


Hidden Scars

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Post-Sirius in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2005-07-18
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius lies low at Lupin's</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

The huge black dog’s steady gait rolled along, mile after mile. The rhythm was constant, as was the syncopation of the limp caused by swollen joint in the rear left leg. It didn’t matter. Pain didn’t matter. Time didn’t matter. Distance didn’t matter. The dog continued cross-country, bearing steadily south, the patter of his large paws drumming a hypnotic tempo. 

He had traveled steadily for days, only occasionally straying from his path towards human habitation for food. He wasted no time hunting. He scrounged quickly for scraps of garbage, although once he did grab an unwary chicken as he loped through a farmyard. Roasted chicken would have been marvelously tasty, the human element of the dog’s brain mused. But, the dog was content to eat raw flesh and crunch up bones. He cleansed the blood from his muzzle while he drank deeply, standing midway across a cool stream. He stood still for a long time, the refreshing water soothing his tender leg. 

With an effort, the dog clambered up the bank on the far side of the stream and walked until he found a copse of pine trees. He flopped down on a bed of fragrant needles to rest through the heat of the day. Eyelids drooped, breathing slowed, and the dog eased into a restless sleep. The early summer hum of insects and the occasional chirp of birds registered in his brain, but caused no alarm. A shout or the loud snap of a branch or the alien smell of human would have jolted the dog into complete wakefulness if not actual flight. But, none of these stimuli intruded on his light slumber.

The shadows lengthened. The dog awoke and rose stiffly to his feet. The leg was no better. Briefly, the dog transformed into a man, tall and haggard, his clothes ragged and worn. He took a few tentative steps and decided that his human leg was much more uncomfortable, tightly constricted as it was by the black boot. The dog reappeared and continued on his way, easing into his limping lope once more. He did not stop for the next twenty-four hours.

~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~**

Remus Lupin paced aimlessly through his small house, occasionally stopping to peer out a window. Each time, he hoped to see a black dog bounding up through the meadow at the front of his home, or ghosting through the trees beyond his garden at the back. Restlessly, he flung himself onto one of the three mismatched kitchen chairs, where he sat drumming his fingers on the battered table. For at least the twentieth time, he mentally ran down his checklist to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. The larder was well-stocked, the linen was clean, and he had even scrounged up some clothes for his expected houseguest. 

The note he had received from Albus Dumbledore had been short and rather unnerving because of what was left unsaid. His old Headmaster had summarized the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and said he was sending a messenger who would give him all of the dreadful details. Albus also requested to board a large dog at Remus’ for an indeterminate amount of time. He described the dog as weary in body, sick at heart and in need of care. Had anyone intercepted the note, they would never suspect that the dog and the messenger were one and the same. Remus had sent a brief response back:

‘The dog may stay as long as he needs a home. I will do my best to ease his pain and help him recover.

I’ll let you know if the messenger’s words need clarification.’

Now, all he could do was wait. He decided to roast a chicken and some vegetables, in spite of the early summer warmth. The meal preparations would at least fill up some time and perhaps stop his jumbled thoughts about sharing a house with his erstwhile lover, Sirius Black. 

Other than those few moments in the Shrieking Shack last spring, they had not seen each other for almost fourteen years. An eternity. Remus suffered that loss every day. Through those long years his feelings about Sirius remained the strong, central core of his being, even when he would have sold his soul to erase all thoughts of his long-limbed lover. He had burned with a white-hot, murderous rage born of betrayal. He had drowned in a cold abyss of loneliness and despair. He had survived the first few years of his isolation by feeding the coiled snake of pure, poisonous hatred. 

Eventually, even the hate dissipated, but it left a monumental self-loathing in its wake. Remus could barely stand to live with himself, because once the righteous blaze of hate was gone, once the bleeding wounds of loss had scabbed over, all he had left was his bond with his mate. His mate. A man revealed to be a traitor and a murderer. A man whose betrayal was as dark as his name. And Remus still loved him. He would never be free of that polluted star. The strongest magic could not release him. No matter how many other potential partners Remus found, and there had been a few, they could never replace his raven-haired devil. And, God forgive him, he loved that Satan to the depths of his being.

So, Remus existed, and daily fought to think of Sirius with loathing, not with love. He strove to not fret about the torments of Azkaban. He struggled to not wallow in longing for touch and understanding and a smile that kept nightfall at bay. He was not very successful.

And then, those few moments in the Shrieking Shack once again turned his world topsy-turvy. Equilibrium restored, it was all he could do to contain the brilliant joy that shrieked in his brain. They had been wrong! The entire world had been wrong! His beloved was innocent. 

The joy had been short-lived, but he had clutched the comforting knowledge of his lover’s innocence tight to his heart. Unfortunately, they had not seen each other since, and had exchanged only brief messages. Remus couldn’t wait to see Sirius again, but his thoughts were filled with trepidation because he simply had no idea what Sirius felt for him.

Did giving Sirius a place to lie low include sharing his bed? Remus longed for that with every molecule of his being. The absence of his mate was a constant, crippling pain. Sirius’ voice, his touch, his mere presence sitting at the table would provide a soothing balm for the werewolf’s unseen scars. Remus craved him like a drug. He constantly thought about how it once was between them. Before mistrust and suspicion. Before death. Before Azkaban. 

But, now? Remus had no idea what would happen once Sirius walked through the door. Would it be awkward? Tense? Would they misunderstand each other? How hard would it be after fourteen years apart? 

Maybe it would be easy. Maybe they wouldn’t even pause to say hello before they tore off each other’s clothes and feasted with hands and mouths on treasured flesh, twisting their limbs in impossible positions as they collapsed on the bed, the couch, the floor in an irresistible flood of passion. Maybe they’d make love and laugh and cry and, later, realize their tired, lonely souls cleaved seamlessly together once more.

But, they had been separated for so long. What had Azkaban done? It was supposed to drive one mad. And, while the occasional notes he had received from Sirius over the past year had seemed quite lucid, surely he suffered some damage. How much joy and happiness had been sucked out of him? And, if gone, did those feelings ever return? Ever the researcher, Remus had found very few opinions written on the subject, as high-security prisoners simply didn’t wander off from Azkaban. 

So Remus waited, deep in thought, as the first toothsome aromas began to waft through the cottage. He was so caught up that he didn’t notice the scratching sound at his back door. He was jolted to his feet by several deep barks. Flying to the door, he flung it open to reveal a great black dog. Dusty, thin and obviously very weary, the dog still managed to project an aura of hidden power and potential danger. Remus grinned and stepped aside.

The dog looked up at him somewhat uncertainly and then limped into the kitchen. Once the door was closed, Remus found himself looking at the human version of his visitor, who, if anything, looked even worse than the canine. Worn, unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, his skin stretched taut over his bones, Sirius Black was an absolutely ravishing wreck, and the sight of him made Remus’ mouth water. He eagerly flung his arms around Sirius and hugged him tight. 

“Oh, Sirius, it’s so good to see you.”

Tentatively, the gaunt arms hugged him back. “Thank you. Yes. It’s very nice to see you…” 

And, then, too soon, the arms released him. Wiry muscles stiffened, pulling the thin body away. Remus sensed a distance between them that was not measured in inches, but in years. He felt bereft, as if an irreplaceable treasure had suddenly slipped from his hands and shattered into a million pieces on the floor. 

“I’m sorry, Remus. I’m a filthy mess…” The raspy voice sounded uncertain, like a man trying out a new language and unsure whether he was conjugating his verbs correctly. Or maybe Sirius was trying to cover up his awkwardness. Remus couldn’t tell, and his inability to read Sirius pierced him with anxiety. Hesitantly, he stepped back a bit, but then seized on practical matters to ease them out of this situation.

“You were limping. Sit down and let me get that boot off. How did you hurt yourself?” The words tumbled out as he helped Sirius to the least rickety chair. Remus crouched on the floor in front of him, his slender, strong hands drawing the boot off, inch by slow inch.

Glancing up Remus saw a slight moue of exasperation cross Sirius’ face, briefly hiding the exhaustion stamped across his features. “A couple of nights ago, I climbed over a stone wall, and I wasn’t paying enough attention to what I was doing. I landed on a large rock, which shifted under my weight. I guess I sprained it.”

The boot off, Remus carefully balanced the much-too-lean leg across his own knee as his fingers gently probed the tender, swollen joint. “Yes, nothing appears to be broken. Lucky for you, as bone mending is not my forte. You should give it a long, hot soak in the tub and stay off it for a few days.”

“Remus?” 

“Yes?” Remus looked up quickly, his hands still, frozen at the hesitant, almost timid tone in Sirius’ voice.

“May I have a glass of water?”

Remus slowly rose, easing Sirius’ leg onto another chair, all the while staring at him, wondering why this felt so wrong. He watched as Sirius’ expression changed from mild appeal to puzzled concern. Even that seemed off, as if Sirius wasn’t reacting to Remus, but to some internal unease.

“Of course. Keep still and I’ll get it for you.” He brought a tall glass of cool water back to the table. Sitting at the only unoccupied chair, Remus watched as his visitor downed it in one go. The smoky eyes drifted shut with obvious pleasure as Sirius drank the clean, quenching liquid. His head slowly tilted back, exposing a long throat. Pure, hot desire flashed like a sun storm through Remus’ body. He wanted to launch himself at Sirius. Grab him, straddle him, press his face into the sinuous curve of that neck, feel the movement of those swallows against his lips. With an effort he tore his eyes away and happened to glance down at the empty boot on the floor. He started in surprise. 

“Those aren’t the dragonhide boots you bought when we got out of Hogwarts, are they?”

“Yeah, they are.” Sirius shrugged, barely acknowledging his footwear. “I haven’t had much opportunity to spruce up my wardrobe lately.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, with even a hint of black humor, but Remus winced at his own blunder. He chided himself internally. ‘What a stupid thing to say, like he’s free to waltz down Diagon Alley and buy all the latest fashions.’ At least Sirius hadn’t noticed that Remus had been eyeing him hungrily. Once again he sought refuge in practicalities. 

“You look famished. I’m roasting a chicken, but it won’t be done for a while. Can I get you something to hold you over until dinner?”

Sirius stared at his empty glass, apparently giving the question some thought. No, he was losing himself somewhere, his eyes focused beyond the glass, through the table, somewhere outside the small, tidy kitchen. Again, Remus felt adrift. Sirius spoke softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I had chicken just the other day. I thought about how good it would have tasted right out of the oven. Roasted rather than raw…Padfoot doesn’t mind raw…” The ponderous weight of his exhaustion pressed him back into the chair, a pained expression flashing across his face. 

Remus felt increasingly alarmed. Sirius was so still, so motionless. The vibrant, vital young man he remembered was completely foreign to this ragged shell slumped in his kitchen. He drank in every detail; how thin and weary Sirius looked, his lovely, gray eyes dull and opaque as sea glass, his robes draped loosely from his bony frame, and the once-shining mane of thick, black hair hanging matted and lank below his shoulders. Gently, Remus sought to guide Sirius back from wherever his thoughts had carried him.

“Sirius? Can I get you something to eat now?”

The deadened eyes blinked, and then sparked to life like flickering candles as Sirius recovered his sense of the here and now. “No, I’m fine, thank you. But, I would appreciate the use of your bathtub, if it’s no trouble.”

There it was again, that oddly polite turn of phrase that kept cropping up in Sirius’ conversation. Never before had they stood on ceremony with each other or hid behind the patina of correct manners. Remus didn’t understand it, but tried not to reveal his unease. He helped Sirius limp to the bathroom and started filling the tub. He shot a liberal squirt of his favorite aloe and mint bubble bath into the water, enjoying the crisp, clean smell while he used his wand to set the water temperature just right.

Sirius perched on the edge of the tub, hauling off his remaining boot, and smiling a little as he watched Remus’ preparations. “I must truly reek, if you’re willing to let me use some of your precious mint stuff.”

‘I would pour the blood from my veins, if that would help you.’ Remus bit back the words and instead tried to match Sirius’ more casual tone. “I’m letting you use my ‘mint stuff’ because it’s refreshing and invigorating. And I wouldn’t care about your smell even if you had been sleeping with Dung Bombs.”

He was rewarded this time with a real smile. A beautiful smile. Remus answered in kind and was about to say something when the words gurgled out of his head like water down a drain. Instead, his eyes fastened hungrily on the slash of pale skin that appeared as Sirius began unbuttoning his robe. Remus licked his suddenly dry lips. The long fingers suddenly stilled. Guiltily, Remus’ gaze sprang back to Sirius’ face. He was staring at Remus, his eyes for once not shuttered and veiled, but turbulent whirlpools of longing and need and pain and a host of other emotions that Remus couldn’t interpret. Too much and not enough. Remus practically bolted for the door. “I’m going to go get some clothes for you. They’ll probably be a little short, but they’re clean.” 

He hurried down the hallway and up the stairs to his bedroom where he stood still, waiting until he felt calmer. A few minutes later, Remus returned, hovering uncertainly outside the bathroom door with a bundle of the some of the items he had found in a local thrift store. “May I come in?” he asked, immediately irritated with his fall into polite phrasing. 

“Yes, of course.”

Sirius was nearly submerged in a thick cloud of foam. Remus placed the clothes down, chuckling a little. At Sirius’ warily raised brows, Remus said, “I can’t help thinking that if your hair was red, you’d look like the cherry on top of the parfait.”

Sirius cocked his head quizzically, attempting to get a more complete picture of his sudsy self. “A parfait this size would require an awful lot of ice cream, even for you.”

Remus smiled and casually picked up Sirius’ ragged prison robes. “I’ll just toss these away, alright?”

“No! Don’t!” The sudden, snarling vehemence stopped Remus in his tracks. He stared uncomprehendingly at aggressive stranger in his bathtub. Sirius was still swathed in soothing, clean foam, but invisible flames of anger flared out from him, burning the air around Remus.

Shoved once more into confusion, Remus quietly pushed back. “Why? I don’t understand.”

Abruptly, the heavy feeling of menace passed and left Sirius struggling for words, his face a mask of despair. “I have to…I can’t…” He shook his head miserably, eyes dropping to the floor, defeated. And he whispered, “I need **them.”**

It was a very cryptic explanation, but Remus doubted he’d get a better one any time soon. “Then I’ll put them with the rest of the laundry, alright?”

Sirius’ eyes flicked up to meet his concerned gaze and, just as quickly, darted away again. He nodded.

Remus left him alone, taking the filthy robes and dumping them in the laundry. He returned to the kitchen, checked on dinner, and slumped onto a chair. Things were not going at all as he had hoped. He kept sliding across emotional black ice, scrambling to regain his balance. Trying to anticipate Sirius’ mood was like trying to catch a shadow. He was all over the map, whipsawing between numbed exhaustion and emotional overload, only to sink behind a shroud of despondency.

Maybe some of the strangeness between them was a merely a symptom of how very tired Sirius seemed to be. After a few days of rest and decent food, perhaps he’d seem more like himself. A disquieting voice at the back of Remus’ head intruded on his musings. ‘Maybe he is himself. Maybe this is* Sirius.’

As Remus’ footsteps faded, Sirius sank deeper into the water, pressing the heels of his hands against his weary eyes. This wasn’t going well. He couldn’t seem to keep hold of his emotions. Like fractious horses, they raced out of his control, leaving his tired brain stumbling to catch up and impose some sort of order. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

When Remus had mentioned the chicken in the oven, a long-lost memory had slapped Sirius across the face. The delicious smell of the roasted bird, its skin crispy golden, and the warmth from the oven fogging up the window in the kitchen of their London flat. He remembered hovering over the stove making gravy while Remus had stood close behind, arms wrapped around his waist, chin digging into his shoulder…He had lost that simple domestic moment somewhere in the darkness of Azkaban and its unexpected reappearance had nearly made him weep. Only by focusing on Padfoot had he been able to control himself.

And his robes. He had reacted like a dog that had a bone snatched away from it. ‘Ungrateful sod.’ Blowing up like that when Remus was giving him food, clothing and shelter, in spite of his own reduced circumstances, not to mention the danger that Sirius’ presence posed. Of course Remus wanted to toss the robes onto the nearest fire. Who wouldn’t? They were disgusting. Sirius couldn’t articulate why he had to keep them. The robes were a filthy, horrible reminder of prison and what he had done to end up there. But, he couldn’t throw them out, not now, not until he completed his penance for…

Sirius ducked his head under the water, drowning his thoughts. He concentrated instead on getting his hair clean. Scrubbing shampoo along his scalp with his fingertips abruptly shook another memory loose. Bathing with Remus, the feel of Remus’ nimble fingers working through his hair until the strands squeaked with cleanliness. Washing each other, their hands lingering over every inch of skin, more a soapy massage than a cleansing ritual. Remus’ hands had been sensuously reverent in their touch. Sirius stifled a painful moan at the clenched, visceral need to feel those hands on his skin again.

But, then why had it been so hard to accept Remus’ simple embrace? Maybe because he had sensed that it was more than friendship and welcome that Remus offered. And he had been right. ‘I saw how he looked at me.’ There were deep emotional waters flowing around both of them and Sirius felt buffeted by currents of sex and love and loneliness. He feared drowning.

Resolving to make a better effort at keeping himself under control, Sirius rinsed the shampoo from his hair.


	2. Triwizard Trauma

Remus’ misgivings subsided somewhat over dinner. By an unspoken, but natural agreement, the two men talked only about light and inconsequential things. Remus’ garden, the lack of rain, the increased number of houses in the towns south of Hogsmeade. Sirius appeared more at ease than any time since his arrival. His face showed more animation, his eyes seemed livelier and some of the crushing exhaustion had lifted off his shoulders. Remus started clearing the table and realized that, in addition to holding up his end of the conversation, Sirius had also been unobtrusively ravenous. Without seeming to, he had consumed the major portion of dinner. 

“Clean up will be easy tonight, since it seems I don’t have to worry about storing any left-overs. You were hungry.” Remus grinned over his shoulder at his guest.

Sirius’ posture stiffened perceptibly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I ate more than my share.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m not taking you to task. I’m happy you liked my cooking.” He sat back down. “And I appreciate sharing a meal with someone. It’s been a while.”

Sirius’ gaze was lowered to where his hands rested in his lap, cloaked once more in an unnatural stillness. With an obvious effort he looked at Remus. In a barely audible whisper he replied, “Yes, it has.”

Remus forced himself to sit still, although he ached to caress the whippet-thin form across the table. His fingers wanted to scale the unaccustomed scallops of ribs exposed by the erosion of flesh, new territory on a body whose geography he had once known as well as his own. He’d be content to simply hold Sirius close, but feared that his friend would find that gesture intrusive.

Frowning suddenly, Sirius pushed back from the table. “I should tell you about what happened to Harry at the Triwizard Tournament, and the aftermath.” 

They went into the comfortable living room. Remus curled into his favorite chair while Sirius arranged himself on the sofa, stretching his injured leg along the cushions. He sat silently, gathering his thoughts. His expression darkened, hardened, making him look like the criminal the whole world thought him to be. Like a deadly fever, a palpable sense of anger and pain radiated from him, filling Remus with deep unease. 

“The Cup was a portkey,” Sirius began. He described the events in the graveyard as Harry had related them in Dumbledore’s office, starting with Cedric Diggory’s death. 

Remus had read about it in the Daily Prophet, but didn’t know the details. He had barely gotten to the point where he could accept that the handsome, bright student he remembered was dead. With growing horror, he now heard how Harry’s gesture of sportsmanship had taken both boys to the graveyard, and within minutes, Cedric had been casually murdered, with no more thought than one would give to squashing a bug. A young man full of promise, tossed aside like garbage. The echoes of the past sent a chill down his spine.

Then Sirius moved on to tell of Harry’s experiences with Wormtail and Voldemort. As he spoke, the emotional cocoon in which he had hidden himself burned away with his rising anger. Sirius soon sprang to his feet, his sprained ankle ignored. He paced the room in barely controlled wrath, eyes darting back and forth as if he sought to find Wormtail hiding in a corner.

“Wormtail tied him to a tombstone. Tied him up and gagged him like some sort of human sacrifice waiting to be slaughtered. Then he pulled a knife and sliced Harry open –“

“What!?!” Remus cried, leaping out of his chair. 

“Pettigrew,” Sirius snarled. “Pettigrew, who doesn’t have the guts of a sheep! But, he’s courageous enough when his opponent is bound hand and foot! Pettigrew cut Harry’s arm to get his blood. The blood that Voldemort needed to regain a physical form. Yes, Peter,” Sirius spat the name out, careening back and forth across the room, limping stiffly, sweeping his hands through his hair. “Little Peter willingly cut open the son of a man who had been his friend, to help bring that abomination back into this world!”

Remus was too stunned to do more than stare with horrified attention.

Sirius suddenly stopped, his expression one of sickened disbelief. “No, I’m selling Peter short. He **is** brave. He’s brave enough to mutilate himself in order to please his master and save his own wretched skin.” 

His over-bright eyes impaled Remus. “He took blood from Harry and bone from Tom Riddle’s father to add to the noxious potion needed to return Voldemort to his human form. And the other ingredient that was needed was his own hand. He chopped off his own hand…” 

Sirius erupted with a higher level of ferocity. His voice rising in disbelief, the dark wizard ricocheted around the room, gripped by a terrible fury. “How could he do these things!? How could he hurt Harry?! How? Why? Why did he turn on all of us?!”

Remus needed Sirius to slow down. He needed time to assimilate the horror. He interrupted. “Sirius, wait a-“

But, there was no stopping the human volcano storming around the room. “And then, it was time for some fun! Once Voldemort had regained his inhuman form, he needed to celebrate. He summoned his faithful minions, his carrion cloud of merry Death Eaters! They stood there and laughed while Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on Harry. What a funny joke this was to them! What sport! To watch their master torture a fourteen year old kid!” 

“Voldemort made Harry bow to him, to humiliate him in front of all those hooded monsters. How very brave they were, cloaked in anonymity, taunting a boy! That fiend mocked him! Voldemort wanted to toy with him, play with him like a cat with a mouse, before killing him!” 

Sirius trembled with emotion, his face bloodless as the image of Harry’s weary body slumped in a chair in Dumbledore’s office played across his mind. He hadn’t protected his godson. Once again, he had failed, had broken his promise to James and Lily. He hadn’t prevented this…this rape.

“They used him...violated him…”

Remus grabbed Sirius’ arms, forcing him to stand still. “No, Sirius! No! You can’t mean that Harry was-“ 

Sirius threw back his head and laughed a bitter, howling laugh. The sound made Remus’ skin crawl. Gray eyes glinting with more than a touch of madness in them, Sirius’ voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “Oh, yes, Remus. He was raped. Not bodily, with some unspeakably foul cock inside him, but raped just the same.”

Sirius paused, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the room. Remus gripped the bony shoulders with bruising fingers, his eyes desperately searching Sirius’ face. This story must have sprung from a diseased mind. Sirius must have imagined it. This couldn’t have happened to Harry.

The heated quicksilver stared back, and Sirius’ features slowly settled into a mask of raw hatred. “We should have killed him!” He shouted, his raised hands clenched into fists. “We should have killed him when we had the chance!” With a thunderous crash, a wood shelf on the far side of the room disintegrated into splinters, its row of books plummeting to the floor.

Remus jumped, shaken by the sound and by Sirius’ maniacal fury. If Peter walked through the door at that moment, Remus had no doubt that Sirius would rip him to pieces with his bare hands. Remus relaxed his grip, his touch now seeking to calm the magical rage boiling out of Sirius before he did any more damage to the house or himself. “Sirius, stop! We can’t dwell on that. Harry had the right to make the decision to spare Wormtail. He was right to think James wouldn’t have wanted us to be murderers.”

“James…” Sirius moaned. “James…and Lily.” His anger abruptly extinguished, Sirius pulled away from Remus, shoulders sagging, but not before Remus saw sharp pain etched like acid across his face. Haltingly, Sirius barely made his way back to the couch before his legs gave out from under him. Remus started to go to him, concerned by this sudden weakness, but stopped short at Sirius’ next words.

“Harry saw them. James and Lily. Harry saw them.”

“How? What do you mean?”

Sirius told him about the Reverse Spell effect and how the shadows of his parents aided in Harry’s escape. With his helpless rage gone, Sirius’ voice became weak and hesitant, as words began to desert him again. “They were shades…not real…His only memories of them…ghosts…” The dark head drooped forward, face hidden behind a curtain of black hair. “They should be with Harry…Alive…Oh, God, I’m so sorry…”

The break in Sirius’ voice echoed the sudden crack in Remus’ heart. He hurried towards the couch to gather his lover in his arms but was brought up short, hit by rasping words as forceful as gunshots. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

“Sirius…” Remus pleaded.

“Don’t!”

Remus’ anxious arms remained poised in mid-air, and then dropped uselessly to his sides. He came no closer. Sirius sat with his hands pressed to his face, the pale fingers stark against the midnight hair. The gentle sounds of a summer evening played in the background, mocking their torment.

Finally, with a shuddering sigh, Sirius sat back against the cushions. His eyes were dry, but bruised with a deep agony that even his exhaustion could not dull. Remus couldn’t remember ever seeing Sirius hurt this much. A surge of hatred swept through him. He hated this. Hated Peter. Hated Voldemort. Hated everything in existence that caused such anguish. But, his gentle voice hid his feelings. “Sirius, **you** didn’t kill them. It’s not your fault.”

Eyes downcast, the black head shook slowly back and forth in stubborn refusal. As Remus opened his mouth to say more, Sirius suddenly raised his head, piercing Remus with an icy glare. “I don’t matter. Harry’s the one who needs help. Let me finish.”

Remus nodded, defeated again by the mercurial mood changes. Speaking with renewed determination, Sirius summarized the part played by Barty Crouch, Jr., the scene in the Hospital in which Dumbledore and Fudge drew their respective lines in the sand, and Dumbledore’s instructions to Sirius about the “old crowd.” At the end, Remus vainly tried to wrap his brain around this information and ignore the sickened feeling roiling his stomach. An involuntary shiver rippled across his body. It was all too much. 

Now that his narrative was complete, Sirius collapsed in on himself, huddled at one end of the couch. Remus felt overwhelmed with the story of Harry’s torture juxtaposed against the suffering that was all too evident in Sirius. Harry was physically beyond his aid right now. Sirius was three feet away, the door to his heart barred against the invasion of comfort.

Remus stood and slowly walked towards the kitchen. “I’m going to make some tea before I write a note to Dumbledore. We could both use a cup.”

No response.

He returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of chamomile tea. He had taken the liberty of adding a few drops of tincture of valerian to Sirius’ mug, hoping that it would help him sleep. Sirius was reclining against the arm of the couch, long legs stretched out on the seat cushions, staring unseeingly towards the windows. “Thank you,” he muttered as Remus handed him his mug. 

Pulling out a clean piece of parchment, Remus began his note to Dumbledore, his neat, even script flowing across the page. 

‘Dear Albus,

Your dog has arrived. He is indeed extremely tired, and in pain, both in body and in spirit. I’ve cleaned him up a bit and fed him a good meal, but I fear it will take some time before he regains his past strength and enthusiasm. His emotional attitude reflects the hurt and angry mood of your messenger. 

I have been given all of the truly horrible details surrounding the end of the Tournament. I hope and pray Harry is recovering from this. If there is anything that can be done from this end, in addition to writing to him, please let me know. 

I await your instructions. In the meantime, I will devote myself to giving the dog as much tender care as I can, although he is currently somewhat unwilling to accept it.

Sincerely, 

Remus’

He carefully rolled and sealed the parchment, glancing cautiously at Sirius. Whether it was the tea, the tiring journey, emotional exhaustion or some combination of the three, Sirius now lay flat on the couch, eyes shut. Remus watched him closely, noticing the deep, regular pattern of his breathing. He was asleep. Good. Remus considered using a mobilicorpus charm to move Sirius upstairs to the bed, but decided not to risk disturbing him. 

He sent his owl off to Hogwarts and headed towards his bedroom. Halfway up the stairs he stopped, considering. Then, he turned and tiptoed back into the living room. He settled himself comfortably in his chair and thought about his guest. 

Guest. The mere word indicated there was a problem. Neither of them should consider Sirius a guest, with the obvious implication that his stay was temporary, that he had no claim to Remus or the house or anything in it. As far as Remus was concerned, Sirius was finally where he belonged. Home. But, he wasn’t at all certain that Sirius agreed with him. All he knew for sure was that Sirius hurt with wounds that bled from his soul. 

One little, disquieting sentence popped into his mind. One small thing Sirius had said, that Remus had overlooked in the brutal tale of Harry’s ordeal. “I don’t matter.” Remus watched the soft candlelight play across the drawn features. He looked so vulnerable. “I don’t matter.” What had Azkaban done to him, that he believed himself inconsequential, or somehow unworthy of help or comfort? 

‘If he’d only talk to me, tell me what happened to him, I know I could help him,’ Remus sighed. He suddenly realized that the articulate man he had lived with so many years ago, the man who loved words, who played with them and juggled them, who strung them together like precious jewels, now used that gift to compose elegies of torture. He spoke fluently of other’s nightmares, but seemed mute to express his own.

An epiphany stuck Remus. James and Lily had been dead for a long time. He missed them, but his grief had receded. However, Sirius’ sorrow was still sharp. The constant exposure to the Dementors had imprisoned him in a jail far worse than the cold stone of Azkaban. He had been trapped for years in an emotional quagmire of pain and loss and self-recrimination. Remus had received at least some support from others in the dark days of 1980 and after. Sirius had had no one. He had been solitary, with only monsters and madmen for company. There had been no one with whom to grieve. No one to offer him forgiveness. Small wonder that he seemed so damaged. 

Drawing an odd comfort from the thought that he had successfully identified the problem, Remus felt the tension drain from his body. He’d figure out a way to help Sirius heal. Feeling his eyes beginning to droop, Remus shifted in his chair so that he was looking directly at Sirius’ face. It would be the last thing he saw before he slid into sleep. ‘You **do** matter, love.’


	3. Visible Scars

The nagging ache in his back woke him to a rush of unfamiliar sensations. Knubby cloth against his cheek, a symphony of bird calls, the dewy smell of flowers and grass. Blinking rapidly in the early morning light, his vision adjusted to the dimness. For a brief, gut-clenching moment, he had no idea where he was. And then he remembered. 

His eyes fell on the other person in the room, propped up in ungainly fashion in the old chair. If his back hurt from trying to fit his too-long frame on the couch, Remus was sure to wake up with his spine in knots. 

His tawny head tilted to one side, mouth slightly open. Sirius couldn’t be sure in the faint light, but he suspected that the gleam at the corner of Remus’ mouth was saliva that he was unconsciously puddling onto his own shoulder. The thought of the usually fastidious werewolf drooling in his sleep delighted Sirius. A broad grin split his face, and he had to firmly stifle a loud snort of amusement. ‘Wonder how his students would react to seeing calm, collected Professor Lupin slobbering on himself?’ 

But, the thought of students made Sirius think of Harry, which, in turn, made him think of the previous evening. His smile vanished with the familiar twinge of guilt. He’d write to Harry today. Surely by now he was back with the dreadful Dursleys. Sirius lay quietly on the couch, feet dangling off the edge, and began organizing his thoughts on what to put in a letter. After pondering for a considerable amount of time, he rolled to his feet and quietly hobbled into the sun-lit kitchen. He’d make himself useful preparing breakfast.

Remus awoke with a painful crick in his neck, momentarily confused about why he was in his living room. The untidy pile of books and wooden shards on the floor and the sounds of someone moving around his kitchen jolted his memory. He rose and walked in to see Sirius preparing breakfast. 

“What are you doing?” Remus said with some surprise as Sirius cracked several eggs into a bowl.

“I admit it’s been a while since I made myself useful in a kitchen, but unless I’m greatly mistaken, one must remove the eggs from their shells in order to prepare an omelet properly.”

“That’s not what I meant. You should be off that leg!”

“I considered fixing breakfast while lying flat on my back in the middle of the floor, but that seemed rather impractical.”

Remus snorted in exasperation, although he enjoyed the bantering tone in Sirius’ voice. “Don’t be dense. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

“Still the worrier, aren’t you? I’m hardly putting any weight on it at all.”

And, indeed, Sirius stood with his left knee bent, his foot barely touching the floor. Somewhat mollified, Remus saw to the toast. They stood close together waiting for the various parts of breakfast to cook, until Remus glanced at Sirius, feeling the weight of his gaze. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

Sirius smiled at him, somewhat shyly. “Thank you for taking in a beat up, old stray.”

Remus moved a step closer and blurted out, “You’re not some sort of beggar. And I’m not taking you in. I’m welcoming you home.” He stopped, sensing a slight withdrawal on Sirius’ part. He wondered if he said too much. Well, too bad. Some things needed to be uttered out loud.

But, to his hidden delight, Sirius shuffled closer and tentatively reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Remus closed the distance between them, bringing the slender wizard within his gentle embrace. Sirius stood still, allowing himself to be held. There was nothing passionate or sexual about it, although Remus knew that if he thought too much about the body he held close, he’d be hard pressed not to push Sirius down and make love to him on the kitchen floor. But, still, it was so comforting to lean against the man he had missed for so long. 

The sizzling omelet popped loudly. Remus slowly drew back to tend to breakfast, and sensed that Sirius didn’t want him to let go. He smiled to himself. It was a small step, but maybe Sirius had dropped some of his defenses.

They ate in companionable silence until Sirius made a sudden apology. “I’m sorry I broke that shelf last night.”

Remus shrugged. “It was just a board sitting on several struts. I have extras in my shed. If I can’t repair it, I’ll replace it.”

“Still, that was a little disturbing. To me, anyway. I’m never sure whether I should be happy that I still have magical powers, or worried that they erupt out of me.” The expression on his face made Remus smile. He’d seen it many times at Hogwarts, a mixture of satisfaction at a perfectly constructed prank combined with concern that detention or the loss of House points would be the inevitable outcome.

“I think you’re allowed to be a little rusty, considering what your life’s been like.”

“Mmmm,” came the dubious reply. “What really scares me is that I’ll find myself in a situation where I have to cast a spell or throw a hex and I won’t remember something absolutely crucial. Something that could save my life.” He sighed and muttered, “Or someone else’s.” His eyes darkened.

Remus was determined to prevent Sirius from falling out of the relaxed mood he had been in. “I have plenty of books you can use as refreshers. I know it’s not the same as using your own wand, but at least it’ll be a way to test what you remember. Plus, it’s something you can do while staying off your feet. And, if you behave yourself, I’ll even let you borrow my wand for practice.”

The black brows arched in mock horror. “Is that wise? I may blow the roof off in a fit of over-exuberance.”

They both grinned. For the first time since his arrival, Remus felt he was seeing the Sirius he remembered. 

~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~

They spent a quiet morning. Remus repaired his bookshelf and then tended his garden. Sirius dragged a chair and small table into a sunny spot near the garden. He spent a thoughtful hour composing and writing his letter to Harry. Remus didn’t intrude, but glanced up questioningly from his tasks when he heard a loud sigh. Catching his look, Sirius, smiled sadly. “I’d much rather be able to sit down and talk to him face-to-face. I think he could use a sympathetic shoulder to lean on.”

Remus’ expression grew thoughtful. “Since Dumbledore wants you to contact the old crowd, maybe Arabella could arrange to have Harry come over to her house when you’re there.”

The gray eyes fired with intensity. “That’s right! She lives nearby, doesn’t she? Excellent idea, Remus, assuming Arabella doesn’t hex me into oblivion when I pop up at her door. She could make up some sort of story about needing Harry to help her move heavy objects around her house. We’d be able to spend some time together to talk. Really talk.”

His face was alight with enthusiasm. Privately, Remus wondered how open Sirius could be with Harry, considering his reticence to talk about himself with Remus. As if picking up on the thought, Sirius added wistfully, “It’s funny, you know. Sometimes it’s easier talking with people when you have no history with them.”

Remus saw the truth in that statement. Harry and Sirius really didn’t have a history together, although Harry had remained in Sirius’ thoughts through the years. Whereas he and Sirius had the blessing and curse of remembering their time together and the loss of separation. He thought it best not to comment on his thoughts, saying only, “I’ll take your letter to the Owl Post this afternoon, as Lyra won’t return from her trip to Hogwarts before tomorrow at the earliest.”

Sirius smiled his thanks.

His letter finished, Sirius earnestly began thumbing through several spell books. Occasionally, he’d ask Remus questions to compare what he read with what he remembered. Sometimes the recollection of a simple spell was enough to trigger the memory of a host of related, but more complicated magic. Remus thought it was like watching the icy grip of winter melt under the assault of spring. Although perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; Sirius had always been a quick study. 

They worked silently for a while. Only the scrape of a trowel or the turn of a page indicated their progress until Sirius said with bewilderment, “What are all these kitchen spells? Peeling spells? Chopping spells? I don’t remember any of this!”

“I’m not surprised. You refused to use them. You always said that preparing food was a holy act with which one should not tamper.”

“Did I? Sounds awfully pretentious…”

Remus turned to look at him, his hands covered in mulch. “I found the effort you’d put into planning and making a good meal rather endearing.”

“Oh.” Sirius thought about this. It made sense, fitting with hazy memories that wavered just out of his reach, memories redolent with the sights and sounds and smells of kitchens. They were good memories, he knew, from his childhood, from Hogwarts. The smell of gingerbread and his mother’s voice humming, a chorus of house elves welcoming them on a kitchen raid. Sirius couldn’t quite bring everything into focus, but he knew he would soon. It was one of the few times since his escape that he felt some of his lost self coming back to him. He was almost absurdly grateful.

Remus eventually finished mulching, and glancing up, saw that Sirius’ head was resting on his crossed arms, which, in turn rested on the table. He approached quietly, and confirmed his suspicions. Sirius slept, soothed perhaps by healing sunlight. Cautiously, with a touch as light as a feather, Remus ran one hand along the black tresses, feeling the sun’s reflected heat. He backed away. He’d get lunch ready before waking his still-weary friend.

After bustling around the kitchen collecting plates and cutlery, slicing up some ham, cheese and bread, Remus piled everything on a tray and went back outside. “Sirius?” He called when he was still a good ten feet away. Not a muscle twitched on the still body. Carefully placing the tray on the table, Remus tried again. “Padfoot?” He said, laying his hand against a sun-warmed shoulder.

Sirius leaped out of his chair, twisting away in a snarling tornado of black fur and snapping teeth. A menacing Padfoot faced him; lips curled back, hackles raised. Remus’ hands shot up in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

In the blink of an eye, Sirius was back in human form, the wildness fading from his face. “S’alright. I…I’m not used to letting my guard down. Just…just don’t come up behind me like that.”

As if clouds had suddenly cast a shadow, the mood surrounding the men darkened. Conversation over lunch was stilted. Remus tried drawing Sirius out on what he had read. Sirius responded with monosyllables. Talking had become an effort for him again. He felt tired and anxious. Perhaps a nap might help his mood.

Remus insisted that he get a proper sleep in a real bed. “And walking up the stairs will give you a chance to try this out. I transfigured an oak branch this morning. I thought you could use it until your ankle is better.” He reached down by his feet and sat back up, brandishing a cane. However, this was no mere stick. Like anything that Remus transformed, it was beautiful. “Smooth, balanced and strong.”

‘Just like you, Moony,’ Sirius thought. He stood up and leaned on the cane. It would do admirably. He hobbled up to the bedroom and stretched his fatigued body across the bedspread. Yes, this was what a mattress felt like. He remembered this. Within minutes, Sirius was asleep.

He slept deeply and dreamlessly until late afternoon. When he finally woke, he remained motionless for a long time, acutely conscious of comfort. It was delicious, almost decadent. In the space of a day he had been showered with blessings. Food, shelter, clean clothes, indoor plumbing complete with hot and cold running water. Soap and shampoo. Comfortable furniture. A bed. A real bed. With pillows. He was the richest man in the world.

And Remus. Who, for some unfathomable reason, seemed to have forgiven him for his sins. Again. Who inexplicably seemed happy to have him stay, not giving a damn that he was a fugitive with a death sentence hanging over his head. Who worried about him and cared for him. Who still wanted him as a friend and companion. And, Sirius was sure, as a lover. 

Remus. The sound of his laugh, the slight frown that appeared when he sat writing at his desk. The impossibly gentle way his fingers probed another person’s injury, assessing the damage and soothing the hurt at the same time. Sirius remembered the touch of those fingers as they slid through his hair or wandered over his body, teasing, tickling, caressing. He wanted to feel them again. He wanted to feel Remus’ arms around him, holding him tight. But, he also dreaded it.

As if pulled by the power of Sirius’ thoughts, light footsteps climbed the stairs, hesitating at the door of the room. Poking his head around the doorframe, Remus found Sirius staring at him, as if expecting his arrival. The gray eyes were fraught with emotions, much as they had been the previous evening in the bathroom.

Slowly, Remus approached the bed. “Well, at least I won’t run the risk of giving you heart failure by waking you up.”

Sirius pulled himself up, leaning his back against the headboard. He simply didn’t know what he wanted to say, so he remained silent.

Remus tried again. “I wasn’t sure how long to let you sleep. I know you’re terribly tired, but then I worried if you slept too long this afternoon, maybe you’d have trouble sleeping tonight, but every time I checked on you, you looked so peaceful it seemed a shame to wake you so I thought I’d wait just a little longer –“

“Moony.”

“What?” Remus’ breath stopped at the sound of his old nickname. 

“You’re babbling.”

With a rueful grin and a slight shrug, Remus acknowledged it. “I know. I’m trying to find the right words…the right tone…to tell you…”

“Tell me what?” Sirius could think of any number of totally unrelated things that Remus might be trying to get out. He had no clue whether Remus was about to declare his undying love or apologize that he hadn’t sent Sirius any birthday presents over the last fourteen years.

Remus sat at the edge of the bed, close but not too close. With a flick of his hand he lit the candle on the nightstand. “What I really want to say is that I’m worried about you, and I’m afraid that events will take you away too soon, and I’m happy you’re here and I don’t want you to go.”

It was not at all eloquent, and it pierced Sirius’ heart. “I don’t want to leave, Remus. But I may have to. If anyone suspects that I’m here, if some Ministry flunky shows up looking for me, I’ll turn into Padfoot and leave.”

Shaking his head, Remus argued. “No one will know. I set up protective wards around the property. No one but you can get within a half mile of here without an alarm going off. You’re safe –“

Sirius lunged forward and grabbed Remus’ arms. “Maybe. But you know the Ministry has infiltration experts. If I discover even a hint of something suspicious, I’m leaving. I won’t risk you.”

Remus was about to remonstrate when his eyes were attracted by the way the candlelight reflected off of the inside of Sirius’ wrist. There was a jagged scar there, the remnant of a deep, nasty wound, a long, uneven trail running from the heel of his hand up his arm, disappearing under the cuff of his sleeve. He had noticed it last night, but it didn’t register at the time. There had been too many other nightmares to deal with. But now…He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. 

“What happened to your arm?” He asked in a deceptively conversational tone.

Sirius immediately let go of him and sat back. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

With the wolf’s lightning reflexes, Remus grabbed Sirius’ arm and turned it firmly into the light. More slowly, he grasped the other arm and turned it to see a matching scar. He felt a horrible vertigo, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the affirmation of what he already knew in his gut would push him over. His hands slid up past the slender wrists, pushing the sleeves higher, as high as they would go, halfway up to the elbows, and, still, the scars meandered on, marring the once-soft skin.

“What made these scars?” He whispered, staring now into gray eyes gone flat and emotionless. “Tell me.”

Sirius drew several deep breaths, and then, with the battered dignity of a fighter beaten but not broken, he said, “I decided one night that I was tired of prison, and since I had no way of getting out alive, I tried to get out dead.” 

Remus was expecting it, but even so, it was like a knee to the groin. His fingers loosened on the damaged flesh, but didn’t let go until Sirius tugged free. He felt sick, but he had to know. Everything. “What sort of weapon leaves a scar like that?”

Sirius was silent for a long time until finally he said, “My teeth.”

“Oh, God!” Remus cried, his brain filled with the vision of Sirius, dirty and disheveled, gnawing on his own arms, driven by despair so deep that he sought to bite through his own veins, to chew his way to the freedom of death. It should never have happened. He’d done nothing to deserve that. And Remus, who had thought him guilty, would have laughed at the bitter irony of the Animagus wishing desperately for Padfoot’s sharp teeth, all the while knowing that his dog brain would not comprehend suicide. 

“Oh, God, Sirius…” he whimpered, his throat tight. His fingers ran lightly up and down the scars as if he could sweep them away. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Besides, as you can see, I was unsuccessful. As I recall, I had a lot of trouble getting the blood flowing properly. Too much flesh gets in the way of your teeth. You really have to work at it.” His tone was coolly matter-of-fact as if he was reporting on a science experiment that didn’t go quite as planned. Remus raised his eyes, staring at Sirius with horror.

“How can you brush this off, like it’s nothing!?”

Sirius shrugged, turning his face away from the heated hazel eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. It was a long time ago. They found me, healed me and kept me under observation for a while. I never tried it again. It doesn’t matter.”

“It **does** matter, goddam it!” Remus yelled, his anger boiling over. Sirius flinched away from him. “Why do you keep saying things don’t matter?! ‘It doesn’t matter….I don’t matter.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?! Of course, it matters! Azkaban is torture! You were tortured! For Peter’s crime! Maybe you don’t give a shit anymore! Maybe you’re too far gone to care! But, it matters to me! You matter…” 

His voice broke and he buried his face in his hands, smothering the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He was so angry. Angry at Sirius’ apparent indifference to his own suffering. At Peter, who deserved to be flayed alive. At himself because he had believed in Sirius’ treachery. And, because his anger could not burn away his own helplessness to put everything right.

Remus felt the mattress shift and then an arm encircled his shoulders. He couldn’t bear it. Not now. Remus sprang to his feet and launched himself down the stairs and out of the house.

Although he sat completely immobile on the edge of the bed, Sirius felt he was floundering to keep from drowning. Trapped in a twisted net of uncertainty, the safest course was to do nothing. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there before his mind broke through his body’s inertia. He had to find Remus. Sirius tottered down the stairs and out the back door. There was no sign of the missing wizard. The cane thudded to the ground as Padfoot cast about back and forth until he found the strongest scent of Remus. He followed it into the woods. 

It wasn’t long before the limping dog caught the scent of the werewolf floating in the air. He soon sighted a figure sitting dejectedly on a tree stump. Slowly and quietly the dog approached the man. He felt anxious, sensing sad/hurt feelings from the man/wolf who was his pack. Cautiously, Padfoot came close. With an uncertain whine he nudged the man’s arm with his broad nose and looked up into the eyes that were almost-Moony’s.

Remus had been silently berating himself for losing his temper. He knew Sirius’ emotions were raw and volatile. Yelling at him for not feeling the way Remus thought he should feel would only add to his turmoil. Their breakfast banter seemed like a dream right now.

He was suddenly aware that he was not alone. He turned, just as he heard a whine and felt a strong push at his arm. Padfoot’s eyes were the same ghostly gray of his human form, but with a different type of sentience to them. Even so, they were filled with canine worry. Remus stared into them, a rueful smile beginning to quirk his lips, as his hands slid to scratch behind the soft ears. His fingers burrowed through thick fur, kneading the dog’s shoulders. 

After a few minutes Remus dropped his hands. “Change back?” He asked.

Sirius stood next to him, his eyes still worried, but now with the full weight of human knowledge in them. “Are you okay?”

Remus nodded and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – “

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But – “

“No. Look, can we make a deal? Can we agree that…that things should be…that we’re not who we… that we can’t…?” Sirius shook his head in annoyance. He paused, obviously struggling to round up the proper words from the verbal herd running loose in his head. “We’ve been apart…alone for so long. We’re…we’re bound to…stumble into things…unexpected things about each other. And…maybe we’ll be…get angry or sad or hurt. But, we have to…deal with it even if it’s not easy. And just…try…”

The stormy eyes in the thin face pleaded for understanding. The words weren’t perfect, but they captured the essence of what Sirius was trying to say. Remus regarded him solemnly and said, “And when we fall on our faces, we’ll help each other up and try again.”

He laid a hand against Sirius’ face and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. In spite of the slight tensing of the taller wizard’s body, Remus felt like some of the strangeness between them had dissipated. He felt the ground solidly beneath his feet. “Come on, let me help you back to the house.”


	4. Hidden Scars

The evening turned surprisingly cool. A scent of rain drifted through the windows. The friends sat easily in the living room, lit by candles and a small fire that drove away the unseasonable chill. They had opted, wordlessly, to spend their time at play, and now lingered over Remus’ old chess set. As they had done countless times in their past, Sirius directed the black pieces and Remus the white. Sirius found it disconcerting and somewhat humbling to discover that the pieces remembered him. The black knights were completely out of control, raising a constant cacophony while they energetically shook their lances in the air, urging Sirius to turn them loose against their “wicked and cowardly” opponents. The pawns had joined together in a rousing cheer, and even one of the bishops had raised a hand in gentle benediction. 

In between chess moves, the two men talked about current events. Occasionally, the conversation would take precedent over the chess, much to the black pieces’ vocal disapproval. Remus filled in the gaps of what Sirius had already learned from Dumbledore. There weren’t many, as Sirius proved to be a surprisingly well-informed fugitive. They gossiped about who held what Ministry position and where their various Hogwarts and Order of the Phoenix acquaintances were now. Sirius’ knowledge of people was sometimes fuzzy and occasionally non-existent, which didn’t surprise him at all. Rather, his expression registered a certain weary acceptance of his lost thoughts and memories. 

Remus watched Sirius’ hand as it drifted back and forth above the board, the mind behind it contemplating his next move. Or maybe not. The lean, graceful fingers would almost fasten on a piece, only to rise again in the air, causing loud complaints from the abandoned figure. Remus sensed that Sirius was getting almost as much pleasure out of teasing the magical game pieces as he was in exercising his brain with the logic and strategy needed for chess. The thought made him somewhat sad. Sirius had always been a social animal.

One of the black knights captured a white bishop. “Down to the devil, ye foresworn priest!” The knight screamed in triumph as his heavy sword shattered the bishop’s head. 

“It’s just as well I don’t have neighbors living nearby, with all the racket your men are making,” Remus grinned.

“They are a bit over the top, aren’t they?”

“Over the top, out the door, through the fields until they fall shrieking into a river. I should turn them loose more often.”

Remus found himself paying more attention to the play of light across Sirius’ face than the play of combat on the board between them. The starry eyes were alive with keen concentration, gleaming between the twin fringes of dark lashes. The cheeks were too hollow, an obvious sign of the hardship of Sirius’ current existence. With a guilty twinge, Remus realized that he found that acetic quality attractive. His fingers itched to sweep along the changed planes of his lover’s face, ached to explore the texture of skin and lips and brows. And hair. And earlobes. And…

And what he really wanted was a kiss. Soft, gentle pressure, his lips against Sirius’s. The lips he found it increasingly hard to take his mind and his eyes off. Especially now, as Sirius gnawed briefly on the lower one, until an abrupt smile spread across his face.

“Checkmate.” 

Their eyes met for a short eternity until Remus dragged his gaze down to the chessboard. 

Things looked grim for his decimated white army. His remaining men stood about dejectedly. His king was trapped. Graciously, Remus admitted defeat. 

“Do you want another game?”

“No, my brain’s starting to hurt. You can pay me back tomorrow.”

They put the chessmen away. Remus rose to make some tea just as Sirius stood to put the chess set back on the shelf. Their movements brought them face-to-face, with only the width of the game separating them. Again, their eyes met. Sirius felt as if his legs were slipping out from under him. He could see so much that he needed and wanted in Remus’ eyes. If only there was a way to climb inside and surround himself with that warm sanctuary. 

Remus took the chess set from him. “Sit down. Your ankle will never heal if you insist on using it.” His voice sounded hoarse and uncertain. He walked to place the game on the shelf. Sirius remained standing, watching his every move. The most obvious thing for Remus to do now was to go directly to the kitchen. He didn’t. He moved slowly back to stand in front of Sirius. His eyes searched the lean face for some sort of sign. Sirius was impassive, although Remus practically heard the roar of a turbulent, emotional river under the surface. He waited, wondering if Sirius would say something, anything to give him a clue to the thoughts tumbling about inside. But, Sirius had no words to describe the depths of his own desolation. His emotions flew in tight, trapped circles, like a flock of startled birds that his hands were not quick enough to catch.

Half-formed phrases sprang to Remus’ lips. He swallowed, knowing them to be useless. Nothing captured what he wanted to say, so he followed his instincts. He inched forward, his eyes never leaving Sirius’, until he had closed the gap between them. The fingers of one hand delicately traced along Sirius’ jaw, and then lightly caressed the outline of his face, while the other arm slowly crept around the slim waist. 

‘His hair feels different,’ Remus thought, noting a coarser texture than the silky skeins he remembered. He sensed a slight shudder reverberate through Sirius, but he was so close now, he dissolved into the lean body and tasted the mouth that had so often brought him to bone-melting ecstasy. ‘Mmmmm.’ He wasn’t sure if that purring, contented sound was in his mind or if he had uttered it. 

Sirius stood still, except for the slight, involuntary tensing of all the long muscles of his body. He starved for the feast of sensation those hands and lips brought to him. But the darkest pit in his mind, the decrepit hovel of his worst nightmares threatened to spew forth remembered slime of degradation. He fought to keep that door closed. This was Remus. Remus wouldn’t hurt him. And, now their bodies were touching, chestbellyhipthigh, and it was familiar and good, so good, and maybe it would be okay for just a little while and the fingers sliding through his hair and the hand wandering over his back belonged but hardly mattered because the mouth pressed against his lips took his breath away so soft so sweet so comforting so he kissed back for a minute or an hour or forever and it was right.

Remus’ lips demanded to reacquaint themselves with remembered textures. He let them wander on a slow journey along a firm jaw with its slight rasp of stubble, up across warm skin to traverse the ridge of cheekbone. He felt a whisper of lashes before he slid along the graceful arch of a satiny brow, only to dip down to return to the moist, warm mouth. He fastened on Sirius’ lips again, feeding on taste and sensation. Delicate tendrils of desire curled like smoke throughout his body.

And then he noticed no arms encircled him. No hands touched him. With a determined effort, he drew back, releasing his hold slightly. Remus couldn’t place the expression on his lost lover’s face. He thought he saw uncertainty and he knew he saw a longing hunger, but there was some other emotion he couldn’t place. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly.

Sirius didn’t reply and silently Remus despaired, bracing himself for the emotional barriers to spring up between them again. Sirius frowned slightly and then, with a tinge of shame, said, “I’m not ready for this. I’m sorry.”

Smothering a groan, Remus murmured, “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything more.” 

“It’s been so long…and I’m not used to…touch. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really.” He stepped back, opening a sliver of light between their bodies. “We need to get used to each other again. Right?”

“Yes.” 

Remus realized that he had given Sirius a path out of the tangled thicket of emotions that ensnared him. Sirius had taken it with the alacrity of a rabbit diving for cover just ahead of a hawk’s talons.

It was getting late. And, in spite of his long afternoon nap, Sirius looked tired and strained. He moved away from Remus and glanced towards the couch.

“Oh, no.” Remus said firmly. “You’re sleeping upstairs in the bed. You need it more than I do.”

“I’m fine on the couch. I’m not going to push you out of your own bed.”

Without pausing to weigh the possible consequences of his words Remus answered, “Then we’ll share it. It’s plenty big enough for both of us.” He waited for the expected argument, and was surprised by the meek reply.

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, they were lying side by side for the first time in over a decade. Remus thought about stealing a final, good night kiss and wrapping himself around his mate. He decided not to force the issue, although he longed to fall asleep curled up against another beating heart. For now, though, this was enough. He slept. 

Sirius lay awake, his mind wandering. He realized after a while that he was breathing in time with Remus. He held his breath, listening to the slow cadence from the man beside him. With great caution he slid closer, hungry for the comfort of Remus’ presence, slowly fitting his body around the sleeping werewolf. Remus stirred, turning slightly towards Sirius, and the angles and curves of his form settled into place, two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together. Sirius finally relaxed and floated into slumber.

**~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~ 

Pitch black. Night? No, a blindfold. A meaty hand pushes. Shoves him forward. His hands come up. Defensive. Shackles locked around his wrists. Struggle backward. Invisible hands too strong. Propel him against his will. Into a room. No echoes of scuffling footsteps. A small room. 

It smells. Fetid damp. Old sweat. Stale pain. Rancid sex. New nightmares. A hard, twisting thrust. Falling. Shock of hitting the stone floor. Rough stone scrapes. Hard and cold. Along his palms. Under his knees. Hauled up on his knees. Hot breath from behind. Stinks. Stubbled jaw rasps against his face. Slobbering lips and poisonous tongue. He struggles. Writhes. Crawls away. He crawls. On his hands and knees. But, the other is too quick. Too strong. Grabs and drags him back. Hoarse, mocking laughter. 

Hard stone beneath his knees. Clank of metal snapping shut. His hands locked to a ring on the wall. The iron ring on the wall. Clutch the iron ring on the wall. Cold curve against his palms. Curled fingers around the curve. 

Brutal hands all over him. Burrowing fingers. Stubby fierce fingers paw his clothes. Calloused tough fingers grab his hair. Seize hanks of his hair. Yank back hard. “Give me a kiss, pretty thing.” Cackling laughter and the smelly drooling mouth. Laps and kisses. Sour tongue licks him. Putrid, lapping, teasing tongue. Spit cools on his face. He wants to puke. Drown them in a sea of vomit. The hands feel him. Squeeze him. Own him. Twist away from the hands. A growl at his struggles. Impatience. A fist pounds out of the dark. Once. Twice. Again and again. Stars behind his eyes. Blood, coppery warm. Taste the slow drops from his nose. His split lip. 

Cold air against his skin. Hot hands against his skin. Bulky body presses up behind. “Gonna ride you hard, pretty thing.” Panting whistling gasps. Hands claw his hips. Clench his bones. Force him still. No. Stop this. No. Hard rod. Searing bolt. “Scream for me, pretty thing.” Pain. White-hot pain. Don’t scream. Mouth open and round. Don’t scream. Silent and round. Don’t scream. Round iron ring on the wall. Don’t let go. Round like a life preserver. Don’t let go. Preservation. Don’t let go. Don’t scream. Don’t let go. Don’t scream. Dontscreamdontscreamdontscream…. No blindfold vague shapes in the dark wrists suddenly free a voice murmurs something from behind hands touch his back and 

“NO!!” The scream rips from his throat. He whirls and thrashes, finally free to fight back.

Remus scrambled for his wand. “Lumos!” With rapid flick, the candles blazed with light. Sirius sat rigidly still, fists raised, his back hard against the far edge of the headboard, his breath whistling through clenched teeth. Remus was shocked at the trapped, hunted look in the dilated eyes. “Sirius?” He said softly. “You were having a nightmare.” Dropping his hands to the mattress, Sirius closed his eyes and waited for his heart to stop galloping. “Are you alright, love?” Remus’ honey-smooth voice flowed over him, a blanket of soothing concern. 

Hiding his mental crawl out of the stinking sewer of his memories, Sirius muttered, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I woke you.”

“You sounded hurt. You want to tell me about it?”

Sirius shook his head wearily. “It’s nothing. Just residual Azkaban shit, I guess. What time is it?”

“Two-thirty, three. Will you be able to go back to sleep?”

“I think so.” 

Remus was unwilling to let this pass. “Sirius, you might shake it off quicker if you put into words –“

“No!” Sirius snapped. He bit his lip and then continued in a calmer tone of voice. “Let’s just drop it, Moony, okay?”

Outwardly calm, but with eyes still glittering black and focused on his internal torment, Sirius slid back down under the sheet. Remus waved out the candles and settled next to him, worry tugging at his thoughts. What had happened in that hell-hole? What did they do to him? He bit his lip to keep from asking again about the dream. He’d let Sirius set his own pace on Azkaban. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the faint tremor in the mattress caused by the trembling of Sirius’ body.

Sirius resolutely pushed horror out of his mind, but felt it lurking at the edge of his consciousness, waiting with the nonchalant serenity of a cunning predator. He needed something to help him pull himself out of this pit. Like a beacon against the darkness of prison and insanity, he had clutched the thought ‘I am innocent’. So, now, his mind and heart found another lifeline. ‘Remus loves me.’ He closed his eyes, centering his thoughts on the beautiful, tender man next to him. His mind raced uncontrollably, tossing up flashes and glints of memories of Remus. His heart ached with the love he had never lost for this uniquely fascinating man, who was his lifeblood. And after a long while, Sirius surrendered to his overwhelming need to bridge the few inches of distance and the wide gap of years that separated them.

“Remus?” His voice, as insubstantial as a puff of dandelion seeds, floated through the dark.

“Yes?”

“Hold me?”

“Yes.” 

Remus tenderly gathered his damaged mate close into the protective shield of his body. He felt sinewy arms wrap around him and warm breath sigh along the curve of his neck. Remus’ lips brushed a gentle kiss into the tangled hair. His hand swept in slow circles across Sirius’ tensed shoulders, gradually soothing him into relaxation. But, as Remus radiated comfort and security, deep down he felt Moony stir and awake to the distress of his long-lost Padfoot. He sensed the wolf’s patient but deadly anger. A reckoning would be paid some day. This harm would be avenged.


	5. A Reunion, of Sorts

The next few days settled into a comfortable pattern, as they awaited instructions from Dumbledore and the approaching full moon. Sirius rose very early, a marked changed from their student days when his roommates would practically have to dump him onto the dormitory floor to get him moving. He would shower, shave and prepare breakfast. Aromas floating up to the bedroom would wake Remus, who immediately thundered down the stairs, spouting about sprains and rest and pig-headed patients and glaring Sirius into a chair. Sirius would act contrite, but Remus knew full well they’d repeat the whole scenario on the following morning. 

Then they did odd jobs around the house, or Remus would quiz Sirius’ knowledge of charms and hexes and spells. They discussed the news in the Prophet. They pored over their correspondence with Harry. Remus shared his current project with Sirius. He was editing a scholarly work on theories of Druid methods of divination. 

Remus continued to notice changes in Sirius, such as how much he craved sunlight, fresh fruit and vegetables. How he could sit still for hours, silently watching the play of light across the meadow. How his eyes sometimes clouded over when he got lost in his thoughts. How he adroitly changed the direction of their conversation when the topic veered towards anything remotely personal. How he absolutely refused any discussion of Azkaban when Remus sought to draw him out. And how the occasional flash of his smile took Remus’ breath away.

On the plus side, Sirius had regained some of his emotional equilibrium. Much of the edginess was gone. He no longer tensed at Remus’ touch, although he didn’t invite it. Remus, on the other hand, was finding it harder to be near Sirius. If they were close, Remus had to touch him. Brush back the thick, black hair with his fingertips. Slide his arm around shoulders or waist. 

And once his hands found their way to Sirius’ body, he wanted so much more. But Sirius did nothing to encourage him. He never touched Remus with any degree of intimacy, never initiated physical contact. When they went to bed, Remus would kiss Sirius good night, and try to ignore the increasingly insistent throb in his groin. For once in his life, Remus was thankful for his ability to keep rigid control of himself. 

In fact, their physical relationship was most intimate when they slept. Their sleeping bodies always moved to curl around each other. Every morning Sirius woke amidst a tangle of limbs. He liked to watch Remus sleep for a while before getting up to prepare breakfast. He compared the features of the sleeping face with his memories. Every wrinkle, every lock of gray hair, every speck of change and maturity was something new to be treasured. 

For his part, Remus occasionally awoke in the middle of the night because of Sirius muttering or twitching in the grips of a bad dream, although none of these dreams repeated the violence of that first nightmare. Remus would murmur soothing words and gently hold a sleeping Sirius close, driving the dream away.

Remus took comfort in their increased ability to enjoy each other’s presence. In the distant past, they had been able to spend hours together without the need for constant chatter. Silence would reign as each man concentrated on his own interests. Yet they would occasionally look up and smile at each other or toss out comments each knew would interest the other. James often said they acted like an old, married couple.

The night before the full moon, Remus worked at his desk. He looked up to find Sirius regarding him solemnly. 

“Can I ask you a question, Remus?”

“Of course.” By the expression on his face, Remus knew that Sirius was pondering a difficult topic.

“What did you do? After I went to prison?”

This abrupt opening of a heretofore avoided subject gave Remus pause. He thought for a moment. Sirius wasn’t asking about his occupations. He was asking about his survival. He rose and moved to sit next to Sirius on the couch. “I did a fair bit of wandering aimlessly. I went to Europe for a while.”

“Did you quit your job at Tippett’s or did they fire you because of me?”

Remus remembered getting his official dismissal from Tippett’s Rare Books. He had missed one week of work due to the Potters’ funerals and a full moon. He missed the next two weeks because he had been in custody, “helping the Ministry with their inquiries.“

They fired me,” Remus replied, explaining the circumstances. Sirius’ lips tightened. “It came as a relief in a way. I knew that everyone I worked with would be looking at me oddly. I didn’t want their pity and I didn’t deserve their suspicions. I didn’t want to be the outsider, where everyone stops talking when you walk into the room. I didn’t need that. So, I honestly think I would have quit anyway.”

“And then?” Sirius’ expression remained curiously blank. Remus replied, “I left. I left England. I couldn’t stand being here. I was going mad thinking about Lily and James and Peter. And you. I couldn’t think of any of you without screaming.”

Remus stared down at his hands, not wanting to see what his next words might do. But, for Sirius to understand why Remus had done what he did, he needed to know Remus’ state of mind. “I hated you. For a long, long time. And I hated myself because I never went to Dumbledore or Moody or **anyone** to tell them about my suspicions of you. All those times when you didn’t come home when you said you would. When your trips coincided with Death Eater ambushes and attacks. And, when you were home, those last few months, you shut me out. You were so cold and distant. And edgy. I was sure you were the traitor. But, I couldn’t lift a finger to stop you.”

“And when James and Lily died, when Peter died and they told me it was you…” Remus sucked in a shallow breath. “I spent days raving about you. I broke my hands beating on the walls, wishing you were there so I could break you. Pound your beautiful, false face into pulp. I could have killed you for your sins.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, somewhat surprised that these thoughts still exerted such power over him. Remus glanced at Sirius. He sat staring at the floor, tense, arms crossed, hands gripping his elbows. 

“I didn’t want anything to do with the Wizard world any more. It had always rejected me, and now…my pack was gone. My mate was locked away forever, beyond the sea. And, since my parents had been dead for years, I had no family obligations to keep me here. So I left. I spent a few years in France, working in various Muggle jobs. I worked in a bookstore in Paris, waited tables in Avignon, picked grapes at harvest time. I picked men, too. Men to fuck, to drive away my thoughts of you, because your absence was always more painful at night. I needed light-haired men to block my view of the stars.” A rueful smile played across his lips. “I even spent a few months in Nice as a kept man by an aging but courtly industrialist who wanted a bit of fluff on the side.”

Sirius frowned. “Fluff? You’ve got too much going for you to be some sex toy for a horny, old, Muggle closet queen.”

With a wave of his hand, Remus dismissed the thought. “Well, it kept me fed and comfortable for a while.”

He waited, expecting Sirius to delve deeper into this period of his life. He didn’t. “And after Nice?”

“I got a note from Arabella Figg telling me your mum was deathly ill. That brought me back to England. But, she died before I got home.” Remus remembered crashing through the doors of St. Mungo’s, his haste making him clumsy, only to be told that Natalie Black had passed away the day before. The healer had shown him a copy of the Daily Prophet. The obituary contained a smiling picture of Natalie, her peridot eyes twinkling as if she was about to share the most delightful secret with you. ‘Natalie O’Rourke, award-winning author, passed away due to unexpected complications after surgery.’ The sentence hit him like a physical blow. He only remembered flashes of the rest of the obituary. ‘…first novel won the coveted Brenbourne Award…an original voice…piercing, perceptive, sometimes darkly comedic…twice won the Cavendish Prize for fiction, most recently for ‘Under a Blood Red Sky’…prescient vision published the year before the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…Private services…survived by her husband, Altair Black…..son, Sirius, serving a life term in Azkaban…’

Remus shook the memory away. Sirius had shifted away from him on the couch. With a dawning horror Remus caught his breath. “Oh, God, Sirius, you **knew** about that, didn’t you? They **told** you in prison, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they told me,” he said shortly.

Remus touched his arm. “I’m sorry. Natalie was always so good to me and I-“

“Can we please not talk about my parents?” Sirius interrupted, with an edge to his voice like jagged metal.

Remus filed this reaction away for future thought. “Sure, if you want.” He picked up the thread of his narrative. “I heard from Dumbledore, and he told me about a job. He knew a witch in Italy who was working on some new excavations at Pompeii. Gabriella Vasari. She was putting together a small team of witches and wizards, and needed someone with a working knowledge of Latin and experience with ancient runes.” Remus smiled suddenly at the memory. “We should go there, Sirius, when all this new Voldemort business is over. It was utterly fascinating. “ He leaned forward, gesturing with his hands, an eager light in his face that shed years from his visage. “There is a structure in Muggle Pompeii called the House of the Mysteries. Inside is a passageway to Wizard Pompeii. So much was preserved under the ashes of Vesuvius that still retains its beauty and power. I want to go back.”

Sirius watched him intently, the hooded look leaving his eyes as he saw what a happy memory this was for Remus. 

“I stayed there almost three years, until the money ran out. It helped me immensely, to be part of a group of people all focused on the same goal. I was sad to see it end.”

“Did they know about Moony?”

“Gabriella figured it out. And it made no difference to her. She’s a funny, irreverent, generous person. You know, it was only after I came home that I realized how much she reminded me of you.” Remus reached out with one hand and threaded his fingers through Sirius’. 

“”So I came home. I went through several teaching jobs in small schools, again thanks to Albus’ intervention and persuasion. I always lost them, sometimes due to my absences; sometimes because I received warning that my ‘condition’ was about to be exposed. Eventually I got the DADA job.”

Remus gestured towards the walls. “I live frugally because my employment situation is always so tenuous. But, with the money I got from the sale of my parents’ house I was able to buy this place outright. And, I have some savings from the Hogwarts job and from a bequest from your mum.”

Sirius looked up at that, a trace of a smile hovering about his lips. “A bequest? Good.”

Remus smiled back. It faded when he saw an ineffable sadness steal over Sirius’ face. With his eyes pinned to their clasped hands Sirius said, “It was never supposed to be like this. I’m so sorry, Remus. I’ve ruined so much…”

When it became obvious that he would say nothing more, Remus once again ignored the deliberate, cautious voice in his mind telling him to back off. He allowed his instincts to rule him. “I have to tell you something else.” He saw Sirius brace himself for hurtful news. A sharp pang jolted Remus’ heart as he realized that Sirius now always expected news to be bad. Would they ever find their way out of this forest of pain? Remus sighed wearily.

“Once I came home for good, I realized something. It hit me that I didn’t hate you anymore. That horrible blinding rage had burned out.” The crystalline hazel eyes stared deeply at Sirius. “But, I still loved you. Any doubts I had about the strength of a lycanthrope’s bond were shattered. I loved you in spite of all the pain I wrongly thought you caused. I believed you to be a child of evil, yet, I still loved you. And I love you now. That’s forever.”

Remus paused, waiting for a response. He searched for the reflection of his feelings to light up the diamond clear eyes. But, they remained opaque and guarded. The silence lengthened, stretched to a point beyond infinity. Remus felt something inside crumble. He saw into his future and it was empty and bleak. The fire of love was gone from his mate. The bond had broken. The relentless assault of Azkaban had proved too great a burden for Sirius to bear. He had had to sacrifice parts of himself in order to survive. He had torn out his heart. 

Silver daggers plunging into his flesh would hurt less than this sickening realization. Sirius cared deeply for him, but his feelings were that of a friend and no longer a lover. Remus couldn’t face him any longer. Fighting to hide his agony behind impassivity, he rose and left the room. Moony’s anguished howl ripped through his mind.

Sirius watched him leave and struggled to smother his rising panic. He had only wanted to begin to understand how bad it had been for Remus. How could he ever start to repair the damage he’d caused if he didn’t understand it? But, somehow he had extracted a declaration of love. And while Sirius sat and sought to string together the right words to describe his own feelings, Remus left, his face ravaged with suffering. Obviously Sirius had misread the meaning of Remus’ concern for him. Remus’ love was no longer a joy and a blessing, but something deeply hurtful. And, while Sirius lived, Remus would never be free of it.

Sirius didn’t understand. Once again he cursed his inability to speak of things that mattered. Quick questions and short responses were all he was capable of. The wellspring of words that used to bubble like a hidden fountain inside him had dried up to a trickle. And, even if he could give voice to his feelings, what did it matter? Remus was a werewolf, trapped in bonds not of his making, but from which he could never slip loose. Sirius would do anything to free him, release him from this poisoned love, but knew it was impossible.

Upstairs, Remus sank onto the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands. He savagely smothered his tears. He’d been blinded by his own reckless hope, by Moony’s increased fretfulness. He’d been so sure, in his heart of hearts, that Sirius still loved him with the same boundless passion. A passion hidden, damped down to smoldering embers, but only needing the fresh oxygen of Remus’ presence to burst forth anew. 

He was a fool. He refused to cry, but his eyes ignored him. Moony ignored him, flinging himself against the cage inside. Remus felt his heart and mind would surely shatter.

Then he heard uneven footsteps approaching. Finding a reservoir of steely resolve he rammed the wolf back into his prison and quickly brushed the wetness from his cheeks. He stood and walked to the window, keeping his back to the room as Sirius entered. The tall wizard, all shadows and sadness, paused briefly in the doorway. The room fairly hummed with pent-up despair. Sirius walked to stand behind Remus, hoping for a sudden stroke of inspiration to provide him with the right words. But, he needed to speak to Remus’ face, not the back of his head. Tentatively, he touched a hunched shoulder.

“Remus? Please look at me.”

Slowly Remus swiveled around, hoping in vain that Sirius wouldn’t notice the redness in his eyes. Speaking in a deliberate fashion, Sirius said, “I know you’re trapped by the way you’re bound to me. I would do anything to free you, to stop hurting you by being your mate, but we both know that’s impossible. I don’t know what to do. I need you to tell me how I can make this easier for you. Tell me, Remus. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. I don’t want to hurt you any longer.”

A flood of confusion threatened to drown both Remus and Moony. Did Sirius think that Remus regretted his feelings for his mate? Were they once again lost in a morass of misunderstanding? Moony renewed his attack against the bars holding him captive, feeling Padfoot’s presence. As Remus fought to keep Moony back and struggled to put his jumbled thoughts into words, he saw Sirius’ lips twitch into a smile that appeared and vanished like the trail of a pixie. “Your eyes, Remus.” He said hoarsely. “They’re glowing with that rich, golden light. Moony’s light.”

Remus’ voice came out surprisingly steady, although he teetered on the edge of control. “Moony woke early this month. He’s been more fully awake for days now. He senses Padfoot. He knows you’re here.” He stopped, not wanting to lay himself open for more pain. Moony nudged him hard. “Moony missed Padfoot.”

Sirius’ hands framed Remus’ face. His thumbs gently wiped away the last trace of tears at the corners of Remus’ eyes. His fingertips ran along Remus’ cheek. Remus shivered at the unexpected touch.

“Padfoot misses Moony, too.”

Remus broke. Those four words shattered the barriers he’d built to contain his emotions, as did the look on Sirius’ face when he uttered them. Remus tried to hide behind his hands, but they were swept aside by arms that reached around to hold him tight. He gave up, collapsing to weep against Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius held him closely, the long fingers of one hand weaving through Remus’ tawny-gray hair in a familiar and oh, so needed caress. He murmured soothing words too low to hear clearly, but their tender, sweet message swirled comfortingly through Remus’ mind. 

The tears purged him, washed away noxious fears and watered the fallow fields of his heart. And, even after he’d cried himself out, Remus didn’t move. He wanted to stay in this safe haven, soothingly supported by these welcome arms and mesmerized by the tender, skillful fingers. The touch of this man was what he had craved, what he had sought for years with every stranger he had slept with. They had left him empty and cold because they were not his dark star. 

Remus pulled Sirius closer, his hands stroking up and down his back, needing to touch and feel his mate’s body. Fiery sparks of longing slid into his bloodstream and circulated through him, tingling his nerves and heightening his senses. He had been too long alone, had spent too many years in limbo. The scent of Sirius tantalized him, making him want to taste skin and lips and…He tilted his head to press a moist, lingering kiss against the warm pulse in Sirius’ neck. He could feel the blood flowing in an endless river right below the tender skin, right below his lips. His teeth nipped gently.

Sirius hissed in a slow, deep breath at the feel of Remus’ teeth and lips, their tender nibbling assault on his neck making him anxious and comforted at the same time. Warm, moist breath curled into his ear and he felt the flick of a tongue teasing his earlobe. Gentle, deliberate hands traveled over his body, touching, exploring, inviting him to reunite once and for all with his mate. He was barely aware of the sensations his own hands brought to him as they reacquainted themselves with Remus’ body. But, that was mostly due to the distraction caused by Remus’ sweet, moist lips tasting his flesh, winding up from the hollow of his throat to scale his jaw and settle against his mouth. 

They kissed almost tentatively, as if uncovering fragile, delicate mysteries. It felt new, yet familiar. Foreign, yet welcome. Remus’ tongue danced lightly across Sirius’ lower lip, asking admittance to his mouth, in search of a partner with which to curl and slide. Sirius’ lips parted. He breathed in the scent of Remus, tasted the tongue clothed with mint and honey that entwined with his own.

And, suddenly the tongue was gone, but the perfumed breath swept into his ear as Remus murmured, “Please let me make love to you, Siri.” A pang of nerves shot through his body and jangled loudly in his brain. He shook it away. He could do this for Remus. With Remus. He nodded, not trusting his voice. 

With that little bit of encouragement, Remus renewed his sensual explorations of his mate’s body. His hands grasped the bottom of Sirius’ tee-shirt and he pulled it up, breaking their kiss just long enough to yank the garment free. He saw an expression of nervous surprise on his lover’s face that seemed out of place. He decided to chase it away with more kisses, once he shrugged off his own shirt. With their mouths pressed together, he gloried in the feel of flesh against flesh. His hands slid over the smooth, warm skin of Sirius’ back, rubbed along his spine and skated the rim of his shoulder blades. 

Sirius stood balanced on a knife-edge of emotion. His body both craved and recoiled from these increasingly intimate touches. He sensed the dark void circling at the edge of his consciousness. It wouldn’t take him this time. Not without a fight. He pulled back to look into Remus’ heated, hazel eyes. They blazed with the sheen of precious metals, alight with passion and love. Sirius’ protective mantra sprang unbidden into his mind. ‘Remus loves me.’ How could he have doubted that? He kissed Remus deeply, chasing back the darkness with radiant, golden light.

And, finally, they lay naked together on the bed. Remus’ breath was shallow and hurried as he reached for a small vial of lubricant. They were so close now. He had wanted this, missed this for so long he felt he might weep. His hands lovingly caressed Sirius in long, smooth strokes. Under his sensitive fingers, he felt tension, an unaccustomed tightening of muscle. As his hand brushed along a thigh, the muscles clenched beneath him. Remus glanced up and saw rigidity in the set of Sirius’ jaw. He smiled reassuringly. It **had** been a long time for both of them, after all. 

“Relax, love,” he whispered. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” 

Sirius nodded tensely. 

Remus draped himself on top of Sirius, his fingers once more caressing in soothing strokes. His cock was starting to throb uncomfortably, trapped as it was in the crease of Sirius’ thigh. Remus dipped his head to kiss that delectable mouth, using all the skills he possessed to make Sirius hunger for him. Even after all these years, their lips retained some residual muscular memory of how to move, how to connect, how to anticipate each other. Just as they had after the chess game, the two slipped into a dreamy trance whose center revolved around their mouths. 

Needing to pause for breath, Remus raised his head. Sirius stared into his eyes. They seemed to flood the bedroom with the light of the setting sun. Their warmth was a living thing, washing over Sirius’ body with a feral heat. Remus’ hands were everywhere, touching, teasing, trying to coax an answering fire from Sirius, feeding tenderness like strips of kindling to nourish the luke-warm embers of Sirius’ desire. 

Quivering ripples flowed through Remus. He struggled for control, wanting so much to simply launch himself onto, into his mate in complete sexual abandon, wanting a hard, deep union, a mangled sweaty collision of their bodies where neither of them could be sure where one body ended and the other began. He wanted

Sirius’ shoulder between his teeth. He wanted fingers to grip him until he bruised. He wanted their flesh to be adorned with the marks of their passion.

It had been so long. “So long…” he murmured. “Missed you…so long…” His hand crept across Sirius’ abdomen, down to his thigh. He felt the muscles bunch against him. Easy. “Easy.” He’d have to take it easy. Remus continued his soothing murmur against Sirius’ lips, his cheek, his throat. All the while his hands glided lightly across the dips and valleys of Sirius’ skin, awaking secret, sensitive places that had lain dormant for years, waiting only for this man’s hands to give them life again. 

Sirius sensed the ferocity of Remus’ desire and drew comfort at the realization that Remus was holding himself in check, waiting for Sirius to respond, to join him in a headlong rush into passion. But, he couldn’t move, held in thrall as he was by his mate’s boundless tenderness. This sweet assault of hands and mouth that worshipped him rather than abused him; that sought to thrill him with pleasure, not conquer him through degradation.

A knowing hand slid between his legs, circling around his balls. A slick finger probed farther down, teasing at the hidden portal. Involuntarily Sirius stiffened against this invasion of his body. “Shhh,” Remus murmured. “Easy, love. Relax for me.” The finger slid slowly past the tight opening. Remus saw a flash of anxiety cross Sirius’ face. He regretted it, but it helped him keep control. He would not spoil this with haste. He wanted to see desire illuminate the eyes that had been dulled for too many long years. Remus kept up his soothing murmur in between long, deep kisses. His questing finger found the small bud deep inside his lover, that wondrous pleasure gland. He stroked and teased it, feeling a wave of electricity flow through Sirius. He slipped a second finger inside, both digits twisting and rubbing.

Sirius’ breath came quicker, interspersed with barely heard moans. He felt trapped between his body’s growing need for Remus, and his fear that he’d reject his lover. The battle he fought to hold back his panic equaled Remus’ own struggle for self-control. Remus felt Sirius’ growing arousal and kissed him harder, his own noises and slurred words answering the sounds bubbling up from the back of Sirius’ throat.

“Ohhhh….” Sirius gasped as sparks of fire lit him from within. It had been so long. He could do this for Remus. His Remus, whose whole body was shaking with pent-up desire. “Sirius, I need to-“

“Yes.”

Remus shifted. His hands clasped Sirius’ hips, seeking to turn him over. Sirius pushed back. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Remus was puzzled. “It’s been a long time. It’ll be easier for you if I take you from behind-“

“No!” Sirius voice held a note of panic. With an audible swallow, he said, “I can’t…I need to see your face.”

“Alright, love.” Remus whispered, his hands once again stroking, soothing, easing Sirius’ legs farther and farther apart. His fingers returned to explore the hidden depths inside Sirius, scissoring gently, opening his mate up. When he felt Sirius was ready, Remus paused only long enough to prepare himself. The slick lubricant swirled with the moisture leaking from his cock. His breath rasped, scraping across his vocal chords like a saw as he poised at the gates of paradise. His cock strained like a dog on a leash, wanting only to burst forward, to power into the exposed, tender flesh. 

But Sirius’ visible tension held him back. Tight jaw and taut stomach cried out a warning. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly Remus eased the head of his cock past the guardian muscles. God, Sirius was tight. So tight. He pushed deeper.

Sirius gasped, part pain, part dread, part desire. His fists clutched the sheets. He stared into Remus’ face, seeing his eyes blazing like torches, flaming with desire and need and compassion. He closed his own eyes, willing himself open and accepting. 

“Relax, love,” Remus’ husky voice choked out. “Easy. It’ll be easy. Just push back against me.”

It was enough, barely, to keep them together. It hurt, but not for long. Then all Sirius felt was a full, hard warmth inside him. Remus rocked his hips gently, moving in short, small thrusts that soon became longer and harder. He’d waited as long as he could, but now his body slipped the bonds of his iron control. His strokes came faster, deeper. He lost his footing and was swept away by the torrent of his passion. Sirius tried to stay with him, but failed, his own nascent desire drowned in Remus’ force. Their lunges were awkward, out of synch, as if it was their first time together. And, in some ways, it was.

With a strangled cry, Remus came. But his release was tinged with disappointment and a certain shame that he’d been unable to bring Sirius with him. They hadn’t feasted hungrily on each other. They hadn’t lost themselves in each other. They hadn’t burst triumphantly into Eden, filled with joy and exhilaration. No, Remus had stumbled in and left Sirius standing uncertainly at the gate.

Remus covered Sirius’ mouth with his own, kissing him with exquisite tenderness. As their lips parted, both men spoke. “I’m sorry,” they said in unison. And then each shook his head. “No.” “Don’t be.” “I shouldn’t have-“ “It’ll get better.” 

A totally unexpected feeling of absurdity washed over Sirius. “We were like a couple of virgins, weren’t we?” His lips quirked up in a wry smile. Remus grinned back. “Yeah, you’d think we’d never done this before.”

Sirius pulled him down and without thinking, Remus simply settled easily against him. Resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder, Remus shivered slightly at the feel of Sirius’ fingers caressing the nape of his neck. His own hand played with the fine dusting of black chest hair, feeling it crinkle under his nails. Briefly he thought of several of the anonymous men he had slept with. “You know, Sirius, average sex with you is better than the best sex I had with any of those men who couldn’t replace you. Sex with strangers hidden in the dark is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Sirius’ fingers froze momentarily. Then, they resumed their slow caresses as he softly replied, “No, I don’t imagine it is…”


	6. A Second Reunion, and an Unexpected Revelation

Sirius opened his eyes and was lost behind a soft veil the color of honey. Hair, Remus’ hair smelling as sweet as fresh-cut grass. With a slight shock of remembrance, Sirius felt Remus’ naked body against his own, with no flimsy swathes of pajamas between them. They had made love last night. And, although they had been clumsy and uncertain, they had moved closer towards the deep intimacy that had been a central part of their lives. 

The hazy morning sun gilded the curve of Remus’ shoulder. Raising his head, Sirius softly drew his lips along the path of light. He felt slightly daring, an echo of what he had experienced when they had first become lovers so many years ago when he would wake, nude and still somehow innocent, next to his new-found joy.

Innocence had long since departed, but even in the midst of the twisted wreckage Azkaban had left behind, Sirius sensed a small bright glow peeking out in spite of his failure to join Remus in sexual release last night. He considered this for a long moment. No, he decided. He wouldn’t think of it as a failure. Looked at in another way, he had taken several firm steps towards truly reuniting with his lover. That he had been able to lay open and vulnerable beneath Remus surely counted for something. Having found a reasonable compromise in his thoughts, Sirius quietly rose to make breakfast. 

The day proved interminable to Remus, who could hardly sit still as the hours dragged by. The pull of the wolf was so strong that he felt his muscles bracing against it. But, to his surprise, he was also filled with impatience that jabbed at him like a persistent child begging for attention. He counted the minutes waiting for the moment when Moony would reunite with his mate. Sirius noticed his fidgeting and commented on it. Remus shrugged, as this was the first time he ever **wished** for the change, and he was almost embarrassed by it. The only feeling to which he could compare it was the anticipation he remembered as a boy waiting for Christmas.

Dusk approached. Remus barely touched dinner. His body vibrated with expectation and feral longing. His breathing became shallow, whispering past his half-opened lips in a faint whine. His eyes glowed golden, glued to Sirius’ every movement as the taller wizard cleaned up the kitchen. Finally, Remus rose from his chair and came to stand close to his raven-haired wraith, pulled to him like a magnet. His hands reached out hesitantly, and then dropped back to his sides. He concentrated hard on pushing Moony’s growling turmoil to the back of his mind.

“Remus,” Sirius said, catching hold of the werewolf’s hands. His thumbs brushed gently across Remus’ skin. Remus looked at him in wonder. Sirius’ willingness to initiate touch surprised him. He wanted to say how much this small gesture meant, but his ability to speak had ground to a halt. Remus’ amazement grew as Sirius released his hands and slid his arms around Remus, pulling him close. Remus gripped him in a tight hug. ‘Yes, him, yes…I remember…I miss…I want…’ was Moony’s garbled message. Remus felt his senses soar. He was nearly overwhelmed by the feel of bone and muscle against him. And odors. So many smells floated through the kitchen. Food and flowers and summer. And under those a dark counterpoint, the musky veils emanating from skin, from hair, from heart and soul. Cedar and sweat and water. The scent of a million glittering stars dusting the night sky. The intoxicating scent of his mate, spiced with new notes, sparkling with pain and hurt. Moony’s soundless howl ripped through Remus’ mind, the powerful body battering the cage of his consciousness.

“We should go to the cellar,” he said hoarsely. Sirius nodded and let Remus guide him to the stout, thick door. Once they were on the other side Remus flicked his wand, creating several round balls filled with blue light that cast a ghostly glow on their surroundings. He ordered, “Lock the door.” He watched intently as Sirius’ nimble fingers shot the bolts and fastened the chains. 

“Come,” he rasped. His hand gripped Sirius’ wrist tightly as he led the way down the stairs. Once at the bottom, he placed his wand on a high ledge, out of harm’s way. He yanked off his shoes and socks, placing them on the ledge next to his wand. Remus trembled violently at the approaching transformation. The two men were silent, except for the shuddering gasps of Remus’ uneven breathing. His fingers fumbled at the buttons on his shirt, unable to grip them properly. It only increased his agitation. 

“Shall I help you undress?” Sirius’ low voice was smooth and calming, like a soft blanket. 

Feverish gold eyes glinted green in the blue light. Remus nodded, staring at Sirius with a terrible hunger. “Quickly,” he whispered.

Sirius rapidly unbuttoned and removed the shirt, his hands ghosting softly down Remus’ body. He unbuckled the worn leather belt, slid the zipper open and swiftly pushed the clothing down the werewolf’s tautly muscled legs. Looking at his mate on one knee before him, Remus felt a hot surge of arousal battling with the impending emergence of the wolf. He forced himself to stand still as Sirius rose to place his clothes out of reach. 

The first rippling tremors ran along his muscles. Pain twisted inside his guts. Dizziness swept over him as wolf began to subdue man. “Paddy…” he gasped, seizing the taller man in a crushing embrace. Hungrily, his mouth sought Sirius’ in a kiss fraught with his human desire for his lover and his lupine instinct to reclaim his mate. Sirius’ arms held him tight, and he felt his kiss returned. Their lips crushed together, hard and demanding, and Remus felt a snarl building from deep in his lungs. With his last vestige of control, he pushed Sirius away, growling loudly, “Change! Now!” 

His voice broke into a wail of pain as the transformation took him. Remus crumpled in a heap on the floor, unable to stifle his cries. Padfoot backed up slowly towards the wall, pale eyes keenly focused on the writhing form whose limbs bent and twisted, whose ghostly skin shadowed and disappeared under waves of thick, smooth fur shining silver in the blue light. A heavy cloud of musk enveloped the black dog, a remembered and pleasing odor. Padfoot dropped down low, belly pressed against the floor. He turned his eyes and his head away from the large, powerful canine that rolled to stand firmly on his feet in the center of the room. A long, challenging howl split the air, as Moony approached the interloper, the intruder who dared to encroach on his domain. Stiff-legged, with snarling lips curled back to expose the wickedly sharp teeth, the wolf strutted towards the black form crouched near the wall. The dog did not raise his eyes to the wolf, but whined appeasingly, his plumed tail slowly sweeping back and forth across the floor.

The wolf took several menacing steps closer until realization and recognition swept over all his senses. His growl suddenly swept up into a disbelieving bark. He nudged the big, black beast with his nose, smelling a long-lost scent that shattered his solitariness. Yes, this was what he had felt, had sensed, waking early inside his host. This was his pack. The Other. The Mate. Yowling whines full of welcome and happiness poured from his muzzle as he pounced on the dog, rolling them both clumsily across the floor in a tangle of paws and legs and fur. 

They jumped to their feet, tails wagging furiously, dancing in a tight, wriggling circle around one another. Padfoot suddenly lowered his front quarters to the ground, tail still waving madly, and tilted his head to lick at the corner of Moony’s mouth. With a mock snarl Moony’s jaws clamped down on the dog’s neck, pinning him. Padfoot flopped to the floor and rolled within the strong grip, paws flailing uselessly in the air, exposing his belly. Moony’s growls rent the air as if driven by a deadly blood lust. But, it was all an act. His jaws held his mate, but his teeth barely dented the skin through the thick black fur. 

Suddenly, Moony released Padfoot and hopped backwards, his fierce face wearing an expression of canine ecstasy. He jumped and landed in a half-crouch, his whole attitude screaming, “Play!” Padfoot needed no encouragement. He launched himself at the wolf and the two crashed and tumbled and rolled happily around the cool, dark cellar. The air was filled with a chorus of barks and yips and snorting breath. They tore around in a small circle, shoulder to shoulder, until they got dizzy, and then sprang forward in the opposite direction. They leapt and sprawled and wrestled again. The joy of reunion was so all-encompassing that they did not regret being trapped in their small, cellar prison. 

The hours flew by, spent in play and teasing and mock fights. Finally, they lay close together, panting from their exertions. Once their breathing returned to normal, Moony nuzzled Padfoot affectionately, leaning against the black bulk. Then Moony groomed his mate, his warm, wet tongue caressing over Padfoot’s head and neck in soothing possession. Finally assured that his mate had returned, Moony rested his head across Padfoot’s shoulders. He was tired, but deeply content. The canines fell into satisfied sleep, curled against each other. 

A low moan woke Padfoot, just in time to see Remus’ form return, shaking with pain and exhaustion. Sirius pulled Remus into his arms, holding him tightly until the trembling lessened. Gently, he helped Remus up, supporting most of the other’s weight against his own body. “Can you walk?” Sirius asked uncertainly.

“Yes, if I can lean on you.” 

Grabbing Remus’ wand and scooping up his clothes, Sirius maneuvered them out of the cellar and up to the bedroom. With a weary groan, Remus collapsed on the bed, burying his face into his pillow. His throbbing joints and aching muscles combined with a spent lethargy that made movement next to impossible. He hovered between consciousness and sleep. And then he felt hands, strong hands gently rubbing the cellar dirt off his skin with a warm, damp washcloth. He quivered at the unaccustomed touch, his muscles flexing of their own accord, curving into the familiar palms. Once he was clean and dry, the agile fingers continued their ministrations, kneading his flesh, working through the knots bunched in his muscles, smoothing away some of the pain. “Unhhh,” he rumbled with pleasure. Oh, Sirius’ hands felt good, traveling over every inch of his naked body. 

Sirius heard Remus’ soft moans of relief. ‘Some things never change,’ he thought fondly. His eyes examined Remus’ body, noting faded scars. Time had lightened their appearance, but they were new to him. Tangible evidence of Moony’s loneliness and frustration at the loss of Padfoot, visible proof of Remus’ pain was abundantly clear. ‘I’m sorry.’ The familiar litany echoed in his skull. But, he said nothing aloud. He simply kept up the slow, steady, comforting massage, vowing that he’d make it up to Remus if it took the rest of his life. 

With a gentle push, Sirius slowly turned Remus onto his back. The tired werewolf flopped over, eyes closed, his body limp as a rag doll. Sirius kneaded the muscles from shoulder to wrist, finishing each arm with a soft manipulation of Remus’ fingers and a thorough rub across the palms with his thumbs. Then, he concentrated on the chest, probing along the collarbones, pressing in firm, circular motions across the pectorals. 

Remus’ breathing had settled into a steady rise and fall of silent inhalation and moaning exhalation. Sirius’ hands gradually moved lower, easing back on the pressure as he crossed the flat stomach and abdomen. His grip tightened once more as he leaned into Remus’ hips, seeking the exact spot in which to dig in his fingers to give Remus the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain. He hit it perfectly, judging by the increased volume of the moans and the involuntary thrust that tilted the slender hips into his hands. 

Once Sirius finished with Remus’ hips, he slid his hands down the strong legs to concentrate on the feet. Gently, he twisted and manipulated a foot with his fingers and palms while his thumbs pressed a trail across the sole from heel to toes. Sirius had always liked Remus’ feet. They were nicely formed, with attractive toes and delicate, curving arches that simply begged for tactile attention. Sirius suddenly remembered a string of occasions where he had turned this strong, talented, capable wizard into a mumbling, drooling heap of mush by lavishing attention on his feet. Glancing at Remus’ face, he realized he still had that ability. Remus was absolutely motionless, his eyes closed to mere slits. His breath wheezed in contented exhalations out of his half-opened mouth. 

Sirius’ lips curved in a sad smile as his hands slowly inched their way up Remus’ calves. His lover had suffered well over 150 transformations alone. Painfully alone. How could he ever make that up to him? They would never retrieve the years they had lost through his own deadly mistakes. How could he have been so blind to Peter’s treachery? How could he have lost sight of Remus’ integrity? Why hadn’t he seen the pattern of his own mistakes? 

With a final slow, long sweep, Sirius drew his hands up Remus’ body until they came to rest over his heart. Remus forced his eyes open, fighting against sleep. “Curl up with me for a while?” The weary, somewhat goofy smile on his face was irresistible. Sirius started to stretch out next to Remus when the werewolf’s hand grabbed ineffectually at his shirt. “Take that off? Just skin. ‘S better.” Sirius smirked. Remus was losing his powers of speech as he sank towards post-transformation slumber. Sirius slid out of his shirt and lay down, snaking his arms around his lover. He watched as the silly smile spread wider and the hazel eyes closed. Remus leaned into him, sighing a deep, comfortable sigh. Within moments, he was asleep.

Sirius also drifted off, feeling unaccountably content to hold Remus’ warm weight close. His slumber was interrupted by an insistent tapping at the window. He shot upright in a blind panic, causing Remus to moan and shift in his sleep. Outside the window was a barn owl with a parchment tied to her leg. The owl was quite clearly annoyed at how long it was taking the lazy occupants of this house to let her in. Sirius waved at the owl, trying to communicate that he wanted her to fly down to the kitchen. She disappeared, only to show up attacking the kitchen window by the time Sirius got to the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, stop making such a racket,” he grumped at the irate bird, letting her in. She hooted indignantly at him, not at all intimidated by a grouchy Animagus. Sirius untied the rather bulky letter and recognized Albus Dumbledore’s script. He fed the bird and she promptly zoomed back out the window, only to settle in one of the trees. Evidently she had been instructed to wait for a reply.

Sirius stared at the parchment, absently gnawing on his lower lip. It was quite logically addressed to Remus, but he was sure there would be instructions for both of them inside. He was supposed to alert the old members of the Order of the Phoenix. Why Dumbledore thought any of them would calmly invite a fugitive mass murderer in for tea and conversation was beyond Sirius’ understanding. Well, the wily, old coot must have hatched some plan. Sirius hoped. He picked up the envelope and weighed it in his hands, his thumb brushing over the wax seal. It **was** addressed to Remus. He’d wait.

Remus arose several hours later, feeling less residual pain from his transformation than he had for years. Everyone should have a masseur around the house, he mused. As he entered the kitchen, his eyes fell on Dumbledore’s missive. He picked it up and went in search of Sirius.

He found Padfoot lying outside in the sun. An ear flicked and one pale eye opened at his approach. Crouching down, ignoring the faint complaints from his joints, Remus stroked the dog’s head. “Comfy?” he asked, his hand nearly burning from the heat of the sun reflecting off the ebony fur. The plumed tail thumped.

“Well, I’m hungry. I’m having a late lunch while I read Dumbledore’s letter and see what else he’s sent us.” Straightening, he went back to the kitchen, the dog following in his footsteps. 

“Let’s eat before we open the letter,” Sirius said as soon as he regained human form.

Remus cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“For some reason, that package makes me nervous.”

Nerves notwithstanding, their meal was soon over. Remus opened the letter. A small leather pouch slid out. Remus began to read aloud.

‘Dear Remus and Snuffles,

I hope all is well with you. I have been busy laying the groundwork for Snuffles to visit our old friends to explain the danger that recent events mean to our society. I have not given them a lot of detail, as I believe it is safer to provide explanations face-to-face rather than to risk the potential interception of written messages. I have told our friends that while I realize my choice of messenger will come as a tremendous shock to them, I trust Snuffles with both my life and Harry’s. They also must trust. The erosion of trust cost us dearly during the last war. It is imperative that we hold fast in the dark days ahead.’

‘I’ve also told them of a pendant my emissary will wear. It is the only one of its kind in existence and it is proof of the high regard in which I hold this person.’

Here Remus opened the pouch and drew out a gold chain. Hanging on the chain was a clear crystal pendant that contained a single gleaming crimson phoenix feather. 

‘The pendant is also charmed in quite a nice way, if I do say so myself. Although I am confident that all of our old friends will give Snuffles a fair hearing, their latent instincts may still cause them to react inappropriately. The pendant will ward off any spells that would render the wearer immobile or unconscious. Also, if the wearer closes a hand around the pendant, it will make him invisible.’

“ ‘React inappropriately?’ Great,” Sirius muttered unenthusiastically. “He doesn’t say anything about warding off Unforgivable Curses.”

Remus frowned at him. “They’re not Death Eaters. And, they’ll listen to Dumbledore. Although Fletcher probably wouldn’t hesitate to beat you to a bloody pulp.” He continued his reading.

‘Remus, I must ask that you come to Hogwarts for a few days. Information has reached me of a mystery involving ancient Celtic dark magic. I need to tap your knowledge of dark arts and runes, as well as your research skills. I am grateful that I count as a friend a well-rounded individual such as you! Please send work of when you plan to arrive.’ 

‘It is up to Snuffles to decide in what order visit our friends. I have only two rules that must be followed without question.’

1\. Do not approach the guardian living near Harry’s house. Snuffle’s appearance would trigger a response by Aurors. I will arrange to send her to you.

2\. Stay away from Snuffle’s family home, as the house is also under Auror surveillance.

‘I’m deeply sorry for these precautions, but I do not want Snuffles to fall into the hands of over-eager Ministry officials. But, the sooner we organize, the sooner we will have the opportunity to set old wrongs right.’

‘My best regards to you both,

A.D.’

Remus quietly folded the letter, unsettled by the reference to the dangers that still hung over Sirius. His thoughts were interrupted by a bewildered voice.

“Alright. I understand why I can’t go anywhere near Privet Drive, but why the concern over my family home? My family is dead. Does he think I want to pop in to drive myself crazy with old memories?”

Remus stared at him in puzzlement. “What do you mean? He’s talking about your father, of course. The Ministry keeps an eye on him, just in case he might lead them to you or you might try to contact him.”

“My father! What are you talking about?” Sirius looked at him in pained confusion. “My father’s dead!”

Perplexed, Remus shook his head. “No, he’s not. Who told you he died?”

“The guards. At Azkaban. They told me.” Sirius’ gaze seemed to focus in mid-air as he stumbled through his memories, trying to put them order. “I’d been there a couple of years when they told me mum died. And they told my about my dad…I don’t know…years later. When did Fudge become Minister? It was after his first annual visit. One of the wizard guards told me…taunted me…They’re worse than the Dementors in some ways…” His voice trailed off. With an effort he pulled himself together. Sirius looked anxiously at Remus, desperate to know the truth. “Don’t lie to me, Remus. Please don’t do this to me.”

Remus put all the conviction of which he was capable into his voice and expression. “I love you, Sirius. I would never lie to you about something like this. **They** lied to you. Your father is alive.” 

Sirius rose from the table and walked blindly towards the window. The practical part of Remus’ brain saw that his limp was barely noticeable. He stared at the lean body, trying to gauge the depths of Sirius’ feelings by his stance and the set of his shoulders. Sirius stood still for a long time. He finally turned to Remus, his face stricken with emotion.

“Why hasn’t anyone ever mentioned him? You. Dumbledore, in his notes…You could have said something…to let me know…”

“I’m sorry. It never occurred to me that you might think he was dead. Dumbledore had warned me not to get in touch with him once we knew the truth about you. He said that the Ministry was keeping your father and the house under observation after you escaped from prison, and it would only make them suspicious if they realized your ex-lover was visiting your dad or writing him letters. I thought you realized the same thing, that it would put him in danger if you tried to contact him. I’m sorry, Sirius. I just had no idea…”

Sirius’ gaze dropped to the floor, a look of despair on his face. With an effort he said, “When did you see him last?”

Remus shifted uncomfortably on his chair. This was not going to be pretty. “It was right after your mum’s funeral.”

Sirius’ head snapped up in surprise. Grimly, Remus continued. “Yes, I know. That was a very long time ago. But, we…the last time we spoke we said some terribly harsh, angry things to one another. He couldn’t understand why I believed you were guilty. And I couldn’t understand his willful refusal to see your treachery. The longer we spoke the less we heard each other.” 

Remus closed his eyes against the memory of that last screaming conversation. Seeing the anguish and loss and fury blazing in Altair Black’s azure eyes. _“You’re his lover! And you think he’s a murdering Death Eater?! How can you believe that? That he betrayed James and Lily? Orphaned Harry? He loves them like they’re his own flesh and blood!”_

“Don’t talk to me about flesh and blood! They caught him at the scene! With chunks of flesh and pools of blood strewn around him! He slaughtered those people! He deserves Azkaban! I hope the Dementors make a good meal of him! I hope they break him over and over again! I’d give the last drop of my blood to see him on his knees begging for mercy that will never come!”

“I know my son! I know he’s innocent! And when he’s freed, I swear to God I’ll let him know that he gave his heart to a monster! A faithless monster!” 

Staring down at his hands lying on the kitchen table, Remus pushed the memory away. “Shortly after that I left for Italy. Once I came home, I kept putting off contacting your dad. And the longer I put it off, the easier it was to ignore the fact that he hurt just as much as I did.” Remus looked up at Sirius. His expression hadn’t changed. Remus’ guts churned at that look of anguish. “I know that Albus managed to get a message to him after you escaped from Hogwarts. He let your dad know what happened, that you were basically okay, and that he had been right all along to believe in you.”

“Did he? You’re not just saying that, are you? Did he? Believe in me?” Sirius’ face twisted in bitter hope, his eyes ice-bright with unshed tears.

Remus stood and crossed the room. He gently placed his hands on Sirius’ shoulders. “Yes. Always. Your mum did, too. I know they went to the Ministry, not just when you were first arrested, but after, too. They contacted everyone they could think of, pounded on every door, called in every favor, pulled every string they had to try to help you. They tried to get you a trial. They fought so hard for you. They even went to Azkaban several times, to try to see you, or at least to get a message to you. But, no one lifted a finger to help them. Including me. I’m sorry, Sirius. I should have done better by them.” 

Sirius winced, his eyes squeezed shut. A single tear trickled down his cheek. Wrapping his arms around Sirius, Remus held him close, one hand slowly stroking the black hair, murmuring words of comfort. “You hold too much pain inside. Let it go, love,” he whispered. “Let it go. Lay your burdens down and let your poor heart break.” Rippling tremors and shuddering breaths were his only answers. 

Sirius leaned his head against Remus’ shoulder, his whole body tensed and trembling. He finally had an answer to one of the questions that had dug like a dull knife into his heart through the long, dark years of his imprisonment. But along with the balm of finally knowing that his parents had remained steadfast in their love and belief in him was the bitter realization that they, too, had paid for his actions. He had turned his parents into pariahs. Two more lives his clever plan had wrecked. He swallowed his tears, struggling to keep his self-control, for he feared if he crumbled now, he’d never put the pieces back together again.

After a time, Sirius drew away from Remus. His face was bloodless, pale as death. Remus cringed inside to see it. Whatever rest and healing Sirius had received during their time together had vanished. He looked as haggard and drawn as the day he had limped into the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus repeated, hating the inadequacy of his words. So much still needed to be said between them about trust and betrayal and love and suspicion. It would take time, a lot of time. Remus swore to himself that he would not give up. And he wouldn’t let Sirius give up, either.

Sirius returned to his chair and sat, his movements controlled and precise. “Forget it,” he replied. “My father couldn’t convince you I was innocent, but that’s not your fault. You had proof. The whole world had proof. He was just a man who blindly believed in his son, against all reason.”

Remus shook his head. “Except my heart didn’t believe that proof. And I refused to listen.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. I still would have ended up in Azkaban and, if you had openly supported me, God knows what they would have done to you.”

Sirius fell silent. Remus sat across the table from him, disturbed at the distant look in the troubled, gray eyes. He knew Sirius was once more seeing his past torments. Remus tried to come up with something comforting to say, and felt at a complete loss. With growing fear he watched Sirius’ expression deaden into the numb mask of Azkaban.

“That’s where he got the idea…” Sirius murmured to himself.

“What are you talking about, love?” Remus whispered. 

“One night, not long after I got there…a few weeks, maybe…a guard came to my cell. A wizard. He shined a bright light at me…I couldn’t see him clearly. And then he hit me with a stupification curse. When he revived me and hauled me to my feet, I was blindfolded. My hands were shackled. He pushed me out of the cell. Told me I had a visitor. My father.”

Sirius’ smile was a perverse mockery of mirth. “I believed him. I actually fell for it. God, I was so stupid. I remember smiling and thinking that maybe there was hope. All of this would be straightened out. That I could explain to my dad what had happened and he’d be able to get someone in the Ministry to listen…What a fool…”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes still spookily focused on a vision that only he could see. The sense of danger and fear and pain was palpable, as if a third being was in the room with them. “It never occurred to me that there was no need for a blindfold, unless the wizard didn’t want me to see him. And he didn’t… He shoved me into a small, dank room. I heard the door close. And it was silent. Enclosed. Like a tomb. I called out softly, “Dad?” And he started laughing. Great peals of laughter. ‘Dad? Dad?’ He threw it back in my face, sneering at me. Mocking me. And then he punched me. Hard enough to knock me off balance. He tripped me. I fell. I couldn’t see. And he locked my hands to a ring on the wall. All the while he kept taunting me. ‘You want your daddy? Go ahead. Cry for daddy. Daddy can’t help you. You’re mine now. Take **this** for Daddy. And this! And this!’…It hurt…”

He choked, silencing himself. Remus felt a chill around his heart. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He didn’t want to see this pain, but steeled himself to endure it for Sirius’ sake. “Paddy?” Remus whispered. Leaning forward, he gently shook Sirius, trying to bring him back. “What did he do to you?”

Sirius’ breath hitched once. Twice. “He…he…he beat the crap out of me.” His hollowed eyes reflected something unspeakable inside himself. “And that wasn’t the only time. He’d drag me down to that horrible room…whenever…until I started losing my looks. Until I reeked. Until I was crawling with vermin. Until I tried to kill myself…Then he left me alone.” 

They sat silently, each man shrouded in his own thoughts. Remus wondered why someone bent on cruelty would stop simply because their victim was no longer handsome. Maybe it wasn’t looks. Maybe the guard got bored and moved on to fresh meat. Sirius fought to banish his poisonous thoughts of that cell. He searched his memory for visions of his father. Without either man realizing it, their hands met at the center of the table and clasped lightly together. 

After a long while Sirius spoke. “Remus, if I wrote a letter to my father and sent it to Dumbledore, do you think he’d find a way to get it to my Dad?”

“I’m sure he could. I’ll bring it with me.” He considered, his tender gaze searching his lover’s eyes. “Maybe he could also manufacture some excuse get your Dad to Hogwarts when you’re there, too.”

Sirius’ tight grip started to hurt Remus’ hands. But, he didn’t complain, once he saw the spark of hope illumine Sirius’ face. “That would be…I can’t imagine…I want to see him. Talk to him. So much...”

Remus finally managed to untangle one of his hands. He reached up to stroke Sirius’ cheek. “I have plenty of parchment.”


	7. Emotion and Instinct

Remus woke with the tactile knowledge that something was different. Turning slightly, he smiled. Sirius curled against him, deeply asleep. For once, Remus had awoken before his lover. He lay still, examining the face pillowed next to him. Still somewhat angular, but Remus was sure that there was a new softness under the skin. His bones didn’t stand out quite as sharply as they had when Sirius had arrived. The dark smudges under his eyes had faded. Although he was nowhere near peak condition, his lover looked decidedly healthier. 

And he was still so beautiful to Remus’ eyes. The way his long, dark lashes fanned gently against the olive skin. The cursive elegance of his eyebrows. The perfect nose, still straight despite several losing collisions with errant Bludgers over the years. The inviting, luscious lips, once more smooth and soft. And eminently kissable.

Perhaps the solid night’s rest had helped. Sirius had plummeted into sleep like a boulder falling off a cliff. Of course, yesterday he had burned a lot of emotional energy, starting with the shocking realization that his father was still alive. Sirius had spent several hours at Remus’ desk writing an impossibly long letter to his Dad. Remus had only interrupted once, to quietly call Sirius to dinner. Sirius had entered the kitchen, his eyes puffy and reddened from his tears. Remus had felt a rush of guilt, as he hadn’t even sensed Sirius’ distress, let alone heard him crying. He shouldn’t have had to sit alone with his hurt. But, maybe Sirius had wanted to fight that particular battle by himself. Although he was somewhat subdued during dinner, Sirius had also exuded a sense of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. 

They’d both been too long alone, Remus mused. With a touch as light as the caress of a snowflake, Remus ran his hand slowly along the outline of Sirius’ body. Starting at the mussed tangle of wavy black locks, his fingertips delicately sampled the myriad textures of the relaxed body next to him. Gossamer hair, sandpaper cheek, a shoulder smooth as warm marble. His inquisitive fingers trickled through the notch at the bottom of Sirius’ throat and slyly circled a soft nipple, feeling it quiver and arouse to his touch. Sirius shifted closer in his sleep.

His fingernails skated along an enticing pelvic curve and coasted to a stop when they arrived at another tangle of black hair. And rising from that dark grotto was ample evidence of burgeoning arousal. A lascivious fire burst into the hazel eyes. This tempting offering should not be wasted, Remus decided, as his skilled fingers flowed like a sigh across Sirius’ beautiful manhood, a stiffening rod covered with a sheath of velvet skin. 

Again, Sirius stirred. Remus watched his face avidly as one tickling digit traced along the warm, pulsing vein on the underside of Sirius’ cock. A growly breath huffed from the sleeping man’s lips. His hips arched slightly. Smiling, Remus turned to run his tongue around the inviting head. He covered it lightly with his mouth, sucking gently. With a sudden start, Sirius woke, his lips forming a perfect “Ohhhh…” that slid into a deep, slack-mouthed moan when Remus abruptly engulfed the rigid shaft into the hot, wet depths of his mouth.

‘I love that sound,’ Remus thought, sucking his lover slowly, deliberately. His tongue and cheeks and lips worked in a smooth, undulating rhythm against the hard flesh. One warm hand gently squeezed the cock’s thick base while the other lovingly fondled the ripe balls. He moved his head up slowly, almost releasing the trembling member, only to plunge down once more, impaling his mouth, his throat on the firm flesh of his lover’s desire.

Sirius felt a bubbling, frothing heat swell up from his groin, from deep in his belly, flood through his body in a pure hot torrent of need and want. His hands clutched at Remus’ head, seizing fistfuls of hair. “Hold still,” he gasped, thrusting his hips up towards that heavenly, grasping mouth.

“Mmmmm,” Remus’ response vibrated through layers of engorged flesh and slipped seamlessly into Sirius’ bloodstream. The echo of feeling flashed from the depths of his groin to enflame every nerve in his body. Long-lost sensations swam to the surface of his skin, his mind, like buried treasure washed clean of centuries of dirt.

Sirius ached and trembled. Desire battled fiercely with fear and conquered it. This bed, bathed in the warm morning light, was a bower, a sanctuary from the memories of cold, dank, stone. This man feasting on him was no shadowy tormentor, but Remus. His gorgeous Remus, christened gold and bronze by the sun. His teasing Remus, with a merry, dancing tongue that savored and aroused, leading him like a Pied Piper towards a playground of passion.

Sirius tried to put words to his jumbled thoughts, but the verbal part of his brain couldn’t compete with the liquid flame engulfing his body. Sounds poured from his lips, inchoate and formless. Guttural moans and whimpering sighs spoke eloquently of his pleasure.

Remus gloried at these earthy noises, at the taut thighs under his hands and the fingers clutching and caressing his hair. This was so good. This taste and smell, so rich and tangy and musky. So Sirius. And what he wanted, more than anything, was to feel the hot iron strength of this heavy cock inside him, filling him, locking him tight to his mate. Drawing his mouth away, Remus mumbled his need. He kissed and licked the dripping wet shaft. “Want you, Siri,” he groaned, nuzzling his face, scraping the stubble on his jaw along the turgid flesh. He looked up at Sirius’ face, his expression tight with longing. “Fuck me, love. Please…”

Sirius rose up, his hands reaching to Remus, stroking his skin, guiding him down onto the sheets. Remus pulled him down, sealing their mouths together with deep, succulent kisses. He drew his knees up and out,

spreading himself wide open for his lover. Their eager erections pressed together and the feel of that drenched, stiff flesh against him made Remus groan with impatient desire. “Now, Paddy.”

Sirius’ breath hissed through his teeth. “Lubricant?”

“You’re slick enough,” Remus panted. He writhed with eager anticipation. “Come on…please.” His hands gripped Sirius’ hips to position him, urge him in. Sirius slowly pushed against the firm circle of muscle, feeling it open to him, grasp at his length like a hungry mouth, sucking him inside. Little by little, he eased into the tight, hot tunnel. Its squeezing welcome clasped all around him, hugging him. His thrusts gradually became harder and stronger, the hot, smooth friction sending surges of intense pleasure coursing through his body. 

Sirius shifted, searching for the right angle to rub hard against the sweet spot inside his lover. Remus’ strangled moans and arching back told him he’d found it. Harder and faster, they moved together, puncturing the air with urgent, grunting gasps. Pushing against each other, with each other, into each other, they rocked together, sweeping up that long, final wave until they crashed in a tangled heap, jets of come flooding inside Remus, and spraying the sweat-slicked skin between them. Their quickened groans gradually subsided into contented hums.

Remus tilted his head to look closely at Sirius and smiled at the somewhat bemused expression lighting the thin face. “What? Are you surprised we got it right?”

“Well, no, not ‘us.’ Me.” Sirius replied. A faint blush colored his cheeks, much to Remus’ glee. 

“Why, Sirius Black, I do believe you’re embarrassed!” 

Sirius tried to look away, but Remus wouldn’t let him. Placing a firm palm against Sirius’ cheek, he turned this unexpectedly shy face towards him. “I’m only teasing you, love. You know you’ve always filled me up, satisfied all my longings and cravings, led me to a feast, a sumptuous banquet of savory physical delights, indulged my deepest –“

“Oh, alright, Moony! I get the picture!”

Chuckling, Remus kissed him fondly, and then rolled them over so he could pillow his head on Sirius’ shoulder. His fingers curled lazily through thick locks of jet-black hair. He felt he could lie this way forever, soaking in the feeling of togetherness. He was no longer alone. The mere thought made the sun shine brighter.

“Remus?” The plaintive tone in his voice sounded a warning. “I’m planning on leaving tonight.”

“Tonight?” Remus replied weakly. “So soon?” He felt his contentment slip away.

“The sooner I deliver my message, the sooner I’ll be back. That is…I mean…if you want me with you…”

Remus sat up with a snort of exasperation. “How can I make you understand that I want you here? By my side. Every hour of every day. For the rest of our lives.” He took a deep breath. “We lost each other months before James and Lily died. Somehow we fell prey to the darkest, most vile suspicions of each other. And, looking back at it, I can’t pinpoint when it began or what started me down that desolate road.” He sighed, realizing that their conversations always circled back to those dark days. “I never should have doubted you. All I can say now is that I’m sorry, knowing how inadequate that sounds. It doesn’t begin to make up for what you’ve suffered.” Remus scrutinized the impassive face before him. Maybe it was best not to say anymore, but, impulsively, he continued. “I beg for your forgiveness because without you, I wander through a barren, sere, desert where I’m barely half alive. “

He stopped abruptly, worried that he’d just dumped too much raw emotion between them. Evoking their painful past complete with the hovering shades of James and Lily was perhaps more than Sirius could deal with. But, if he meant what he said about departing that evening, then Remus determined to seize the moment. His hand again cupped Sirius’ cheek in a gentle caress. “My heart, my love, my life are yours to do with as you please. To take up and join with your own, once again, or to leave behind. I have no other words to give you except to say that I love you. I love you.”

Sirius’ expression was unreadable. Remus felt a sickening sense of vertigo, as if all the emotions of their brief time together swirled around them, buffeting them with gales of uncertainty. He closed his eyes, just for a second, just to get his bearings, just to avoid staring into Sirius’ eyes, impenetrable as fog. He opened them quickly, surprised, as he felt Sirius’ arms pull him down into a tight embrace. He waited for Sirius to repeat those three small words into his ear, that short, simple sentence that he had longed to hear for so long.

“Remus…Re, it’s all my fault. I’ve wounded you so badly. I’ve hurt so many people and I…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay, Siri-“

“It’s not okay! I…I set everything in motion…when we switched Secret Keepers…It was my idea…and I brought death and destruction to everyone….everyone I cared about…still care about...”

Remus wriggled free from Sirius’ grip. “No! No, I’m not going to let you do this to yourself.” They both sat up, and Remus feared Sirius was about to transform into Padfoot and spring off the bed and out the door. He grabbed his lover’s arms. “Listen to me. You made a decision based on the information you had. You did it because you believed it was the best way to protect Lily and James and Harry.”

Sirius looked like this was not what he wanted to hear. Instinctively, Remus continued. “And you did it with your eyes wide open, knowing full well that Voldemort would pursue you. You set yourself up as a decoy knowing the Death Eaters would eventually hunt you down. And when they captured you, they would invent brand-new tortures to force you to tell them everything. At the very least, if they had broken you, it would have bought us valuable time. And, at most, you would have died leaving them to think the secret died with you. Sirius, there is no more noble or courageous act possible than to sacrifice oneself, as you were prepared to do.”

He was right. Sirius clearly did not want to hear excuses for himself. Remus pushed on, regardless. “Your information was wrong. That’s not your fault. No one knew about Peter. No one. Not Dumbledore, with all his spies. Not James and Lily. Not me. No one. You did the best you could under the circumstances. That’s all anyone has a right to ask. You already have my forgiveness. Now you’ve got to forgive yourself.”

Slowly, he eased his grip on the thin arms. Sirius sat still, head bowed. Finally, he spoke. “It’s not easy, Remus.”

“I’m sure it’s not, love. But, you understand what I’m saying, don’t you? Even if you can’t quite take that step?”

Sirius had forgotten what it felt like to have someone fight for him. He glanced up and the expression of fierce, loving compassion on Remus’ face almost undid him. He nodded, not trusting his voice. Remus hugged him and they clung silently to one another for a long time. 

Eventually Remus’ practical nature reasserted itself. He suggested they make breakfast, plan Sirius’ route, and fill up a pack with some extra clothes and non-perishable food to supplement Padfoot’s scrounging. “And then, since you’re planning on traveling tonight, we should come back to bed.”

“To nap the day away?” Sirius asked dryly, one brow cocked.

Remus attempted to look innocent, and failed miserably. “Well, I suppose we **could** sleep, but I had other ideas.”

“No kidding. And here I thought that the lascivious way you were licking your lips was a sign of how drowsy you are.”

“Stop being snide, and help me make breakfast.”

~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~

The sun slipped below the horizon and dusk started its slow advance out from the shadows of the trees. Sirius stood by the back door adjusting the straps of the backpack so that it fit comfortably across Padfoot’s shoulders. The phoenix feather pendant hung heavy around his neck. Sirius would head due west. They had estimated that it would take four days to get to Maggie Desmond, the nearest ex-member of the Order. If all went according to plan, they hoped that Maggie would then accompany Sirius by Floo to Mundungus Fletcher’s house. Maggie could pop out of the fireplace first, making sure it was safe for Sirius, and then he could join her. If, as Dumbledore believed, the old allies could be counted on to give Sirius a fair hearing and to be willing to trust each other again, Sirius would be able to enlist each one to help him in quicker forms of travel. With any luck, he would be back at Remus’ house within the week. Remus would send word if his stay at Hogwarts would last longer than that.

Sirius finally stopped fiddling with the pack’s straps. He looked at Remus, but quickly averted his gaze. “Remus, I…I…I should be on my way.” 

It wasn’t what he wanted to say, and they both knew it. Sirius turned away and stepped outside. Remus followed him, listening to the music of the night insects. He sent a silent prayer to whatever deities might be paying attention to keep his mate safe. 

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Moony.” Sirius’ voice was low and steady, but there was an emotional vibration resonating just under the surface.

“You’re welcome. Please be careful and come home as soon as you can.”

“Home…” Sirius’ sudden smile was brilliant in the fading light. He leaned forward and kissed Remus, a soft, lingering kiss full of promise. “I’ll come back to you.”

He turned towards the trees and suddenly turned his head, tossing a simple sentence back over his shoulder. “I love you, Remus.” 

In the next instant, Padfoot was on his way, loping easily into the darkness. Remus stared at the shadowy trees for a long time.

~ **~** ~ **~**

Padfoot made good time that first night, and well into the next morning, pushing himself hard, but not hard enough to cause himself harm. He found an abandoned barn to sleep through the late morning and early afternoon. As he started on his way again, he felt an inexplicable, but insistent tug to change his course. A deep instinctual sense called to him, urging him to turn north. He resisted it, obeying the dictates of the human part of his brain. But, still that feeling nagged at him. 

The pull strengthened through the course of the second night. It was deep and primal and almost as stirring as the howl of the wolf. Padfoot was confused. He wanted to turn around to go find Moony, but the human voice insisted that he go forward. He usually listened to the human. Yet, now there was a third voice calling him. Its song was insistent, powerful, enticing, and soon it drowned out the man. Padfoot felt something shift and, for the first time, he broke free from his human. Canine was in control. Dawn painted the sky, and Padfoot listened and turned his steps northward.

He was too restless to sleep during the day. He kept traveling. He’d waited for so long, without knowing it. But, now, he could sense he was nearing his destination. His territory. 

The dog finally crested a tall hill. His fey, pale eyes focused sharply on the comfortable-looking stone house sitting perhaps a quarter of a mile below. The fading sun was still high enough in the sky to bathe the back of the house, turning its dull sandstone into tawny warmth. Padfoot whimpered, and crept a little way down the slope through a thick copse of trees. 

The pull of the house, its sights and scents, awoke too many complex memories for Padfoot’s canine brain to process. He transformed. Sirius stood motionless, staring down through the branches at his boyhood home. The gardens were still beautiful, bursting with a profusion of blossoms and sweet-smelling herbs. 

His father, a barely adequate Herbology student, must have devoted himself to preserving the plants his wife had loved so dearly. Suddenly the back door opened, and a tall, black-haired man stepped out. He walked towards the herb garden. Sirius strode several more steps to the very edge of the trees’ cover. Padfoot’s whimper was back, wrung from his human lungs and squeezing past the lump in his throat. 

Pop! Pop! Pop! Suddenly, a crowd of Aurors appeared, Apparating in a cordon around the house. Several approached Altair Black. Others started walking slowly up the hill, their gazes and wands sweeping back and forth as if looking for something. No one saw the black dog huddling under cover.

The dog watched as Altair stood unbowed and not at all intimidated by the abrupt invasion of his property. Three Aurors approached him, and after a short conversation, all four went into the house. The ones standing outside continued to cast searching spells into trees and hedges and undergrowth, looking for traces of a human intruder. They ignored the stray dog lying quiet but tense in his leafy hiding place.

A little while later, the door opened. The four people came out of the house again. After another brief conversation, the crowd of Aurors Disapperated. Altair Black walked slowly to a wooden bench in the middle of the garden. He slumped down on it, shoulders hunched. Padfoot whined again and inched forward. 

Slowly the sun dipped towards the horizon. Sirius’ father rose, glancing up to the thicket of trees. Then he turned and disappeared into the house. Padfoot lay still, waiting, but when the man did not reappear, he lurched to his feet and plodded slowly back up to the hilltop. He stared back at the house, and with a final whimper, turned and vanished over the hill, resuming his journey into the setting sun.


	8. Epilogue

Altair Black was rather put out. He had finally completed the arduous process of completing and filing the required mid-year financial records for the foundations he headed. Between dealing with Gringotts’ goblins, who specialized in general unpleasantness, and snotty, supercilious Ministry officials, who never missed a chance to disparage his son, it was all he could do to refrain from hexing someone. On the whole, he found he preferred dealing with the goblins. It was not a comforting thought. But, he intended to reward himself with a week in Paris.

That is, until he received an oddly insistent request from Albus Dumbledore to go to Hogwarts for a few days. Dumbledore wanted his expertise in trying to improve the performance of the endowments that funded much of the school’s operations. And he insisted that Altair arrive in precisely two days time, thus wreaking havoc with his Paris plans. Hence his annoyance.

But, somehow, Altair couldn’t turn down the request, short of refusing outright to help. And that seemed a poor way to show his gratitude to Dumbledore for the Headmaster’s assistance in smuggling a letter to him. A letter he read with the reverence of a priest reading the Bible. A letter he transfigured into a gold ring that looked exactly like his wedding band. A letter from Sirius.

Altair’s wedding ring now lay in his Gringott’s vault. The fake wedding ring rested on his finger, safe from the occasional snooping wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. And, even though he had memorized every word, even though the handwriting burned like a brand in his mind’s eye, he returned the letter to its original form several times a day. His aquamarine eyes would sweep across the oddly hesitant script and he would envision the face of his son. He knew the picture in his mind was undoubtedly incorrect because the face he pictured was either the frightening death-mask of the escaped convict, or the smooth, handsome features of a man barely into his twenties. Surely reality differed.

Banishing thoughts of cafes and the Louvre from his mind, Altair set quill to parchment and scribbled a short note informing Dumbledore that he would arrive in two days. Paris could wait. Although, if some Ministry flunky showed up to interfere or the school’s Board of Governors sent a representative like Lucius Bloody Malfoy, Altair would pack up and leave.

The afternoon sun burned brightly two days later as Altair Black passed through Hogwarts’ imposing front doors. Several house elves waited, one to whisk his luggage off to wherever they were putting him, the other to escort him to Dumbledore’s office. As he entered the office, the old wizard, a vision in iridescent blues and purples, swept forward.

“Altair! Welcome!” Albus warmly shook hands with his black-haired visitor. His lively blue eyes fairly danced with enthusiasm behind the half-moon glasses. “I salute the generous donation of your time and expertise in coming to assist me, especially after you’ve just completed what I’m sure was a tedious and stressful mid-year accounting. I’m most pleased.”

Dumbledore’s effusive greeting immediately made Altair feel petty and immature for his original reaction to the Headmaster’s request for help. It was a feeling his son had experienced more than once in this same office. Altair smiled back at the old wizard. “Albus, it’s quite alright. I’ll assist you in any way I can, although perhaps what you need is a good accountant.” 

“Oh, I don’t think the figures are confusing. They make perfect sense. The problem with them appears to be that they don’t increase over time as well as they should. I’m sure you will offer some ingenious and clever suggestions to ameliorate this problem. But, that can wait until tomorrow or the next day. Or some other time in the future.”

The puzzled expression on his visitor’s face only made Dumbledore’s smile spread. He waved his hand towards an empty table. “I’d offer you refreshments, Altair, but I think that once you see who else is visiting the school, you won’t wish to return to this room.”

This didn’t sound good. In fact, it sounded like Albus was about to invite someone else in whom Altair would not like to see. ‘Please, not Malfoy. Or some interfering git from the Ministry…’ 

“Come with me,” Dumbledore said, his voice oddly gentle. Taking Altair lightly by the arm, Dumbledore headed out a side door and down a flight of stairs. “You are invited to join me in my rooms for dinner, but I suspect that you will prefer to dine privately tonight, “ he said as they approached a thick oaken door. “I’ve had the elves make up a room for you in this suite. Just ring the bell and let Balty know if he should bring dinner to you. I know you and Sirius have a lot of catching up to do and I completely understand that you may wish to spend as much time together as you can.”

Altair stopped short, feeling as if he had just walked face first into the door. “Sirius? My Sirius? He’s here?” 

For a moment Altair thought perhaps he hadn’t heard correctly.

“He’s waiting for you, my friend.” Albus opened the door and stepped aside.

As if in a trance, Altair entered the room, hardly noticing its comfortable furnishings. His eyes sprang to the tall, thin figure at the far end of the room, a black-haired man who spun about at the sound of the door. 

Everything stopped. If Albus Dumbledore said anything more, it didn’t register. Altair didn’t hear the door close behind him. His entire universe shrank down to pinpoint on the other person in the room. 

For the rest of his life, Altair Black could never recall walking across the room. One moment he stood in a state of shock just inside the door, and the next his hands hesitantly reached up to frame the face of his son. His son, thinner and older, not quite fitting the picture locked for so many years in Altair’s heart. But, with the same blue ice eyes and midnight hair. And his skin was warm and his hands gripped Altair’s shoulders tightly and his voice, although a little hoarse from disuse, rang with a timbre long remembered when he said simply, “Dad…”

And then they were locked together in a hard, desperate embrace full of longing and sorrow, joy and incredulity. Altair no longer saw the room as his eyes were either shut tight, or blurred with tears. Capable of only the most rudimentary speech, he babbled incoherently in his effort to express the soaring emotions in his heart, until finally, he settled for simply repeating his son’s name, over and over. His sweet son, his Sirius. Altair’s whole world centered on the lean body of his son in his arms, while their tears mingled freely.

He had no idea how long they stood there before he started to regain his composure. There were so many things he wanted to say. So many questions to ask. But, not yet, as, shoulders heaving, Sirius cried brokenly against him. Altair held him tight, whispering, comforting. Anger pierced his heart, and he tried not to let it seep into his words. Fierce anger, hot and strong as a Killing Curse, at his son’s pain. Anger at the society that had torn them apart and crushed them with its capricious justice. And anger that he had failed in his most basic duty as a father – to protect his child.

Altair resolutely smothered his fury because, right now, the only thing that mattered was that Sirius was here with him, safe, in the same room. And after a separation that seemed like a lifetime, he’d be blessed to hear Sirius’ voice and see him smile. So, Altair murmured of his love, and of how much he had missed his boy, holding him close.

Eventually, Sirius got himself under control. Inhaling a deep, shuddering breath he straightened and wiped the remaining traces of tears from his face. “Hi,” he said with a watery smile. And, though his face was older and shadowed by prison horrors, Altair still saw traces of the intriguing young man, bright as silver and onyx, that his son had been. His throat suddenly constricted. Although Sirius was wounded with hidden scars he’d carry to his grave, his soul remained intact. They hadn’t broken him. Altair grabbed him and hugged him fiercely once more.

“I’m so sorry, Sirius. I would have paid any price to free you… I knew you were innocent. I always knew! But I couldn’t make them believe me.”

“Dad, you don’t know…it means so much… that you never lost faith in me.”

As one, they stepped apart to better look into each other’s faces. Where to start? There was so much to say. Sirius seized on the information that his lover had given him. “Remus told me about how you tried to help me. He said you and Mum came to Azkaban.”

Altair nodded, his features tight with pain. “It was so terrible. So cold and threatening and…mad. The thought of you trapped inside that tomb was like ice in our hearts. I went there three times. Natalie came with me twice. We just wanted to see you. To tell you we knew…We pleaded with the warden to give us five minutes with you, that if we were never to see you again, at least to let us say ‘good-bye.’ But, he refused.”

The silence in the room was absolute as both men were mentally transported back to the dread, gray walls of Azkaban. Drawing in a deep breath, Altair continued. “Your Mum couldn’t bear it after the second visit. The air was filled the shrieks and screams of inmates whose minds had shattered. She thought she heard you, the thread of your voice in that twisted aural tapestry. She couldn’t endure the torture of being so near to you and believing she heard your agony, and then being forbidden to see you.” 

He stopped briefly, forcing his emotions in check. “I came one last time and begged for just a few moments with you. That cold bastard warden spat at me, and told me that if I came back again, he’d tell you I had died. I didn’t…if you were still sane…I wanted to spare you that torture. So I stayed away.” Altair ran a hand distractedly through his hair.

Shadows of Sirius’ nightmares circled slowly through his mind. “Dad-“

“Don’t say anything!” Altair suddenly shied away, one hand raised as if to ward off a blow. Sirius waited and realized that there were some things he simply would not be able to tell his father. Not yet. After a few moments, Altair turned back, his love for his son shining in his eyes. His next question was totally out of the blue.

“Do you know the one instant in my life when I fell in love at first sight?” Altair asked, a forlorn smile on his face.

Sirius had no clue where his father thoughts were taking them. “When you met Mum?” 

Altair shook his head. His smile grew brighter, despite his sadness. “When I met you. Even though I was expecting you, that very first time I held you in my arms, I fell hopelessly, endlessly in love. Oh, Sirius, I’m sure you have some idea of what I mean. I remember the look you’d get on your face when you held your infant godson. There I sat, holding this beautiful, innocent being. My baby, entrusted to me. What a grave responsibility and an overwhelming joy, to watch him grow and learn and live life with passion. But, even though my baby grew into a man, there was always that part of my heart and soul that existed to protect and care for him. I felt that part shatter because I couldn’t…I couldn’t do what a father is meant to do for his child. And I’ll always be sorry for that.”

Sirius was shaking his head. “No. No. Stop, please. It was out of your hands, Dad. No one could have helped me. I made a mistake, and dug my own grave. It was no one’s fault but mine.”

Now it was Altair’s turn to shake his head. He pulled Sirius back into his embrace. They stood silently in each other’s arms for a long time. Sirius felt himself spinning in a maelstrom of emotions. Sorrow, relief, elation. He wanted to spill out every thought and feeling that had been trapped inside all these years. 

And he had to figure out a way to absolve his father’s guilt. Against the monolithic might of the Ministry and the seemingly iron-clad evidence against him, there was nothing Altair could have done. His father needed to forgive himself. The irony was not lost on Sirius. 

Once the two men recovered their equilibrium somewhat, they slipped comfortably into the time-honored ritual of sitting down over a cup of tea. Then, they attempted to catch up, as had been their habit when Sirius had come home from school. It was rather surreal, since their topics were not casual discussions of classes or current events, but rather, instances of trauma and upheaval. They talked about Natalie Black, her illness and death. Altair shared his experiences of living with Ministry of Magic surveillance of his travels, his mail and his home. Sirius told of how Pettigrew had set him up to look like a murderer. And, after some thought, he revealed how he had escaped from prison, much to his father’s astonishment. Sirius made no mention of Remus’ lycanthropy. Instead, he let his father think that the quest to become Animagi had arisen simply out of the challenge to pull it off.

“So, now you know. When you hear people talk about how the infamous Sirius Black used some sort of ancient Dark Magic to escape from prison, you’ll know I did in the guise of an undernourished dog.”

“Speaking of undernourished…” Altair’s shape gaze ran up and down Sirius’ still-slender frame. “You need to eat more.”

Sirius smiled, recognizing a parental edict when he heard one. “I’ve been traveling a lot recently, so I’ve probably used up too many calories. Generally, I’ve been eating well. Remus takes good care of me.” He looked at his father expectantly.

Altair’s gaze reflected a puzzled concern. “You’re staying with Remus? Is that a matter of convenience, or are you…together?”

Sirius met his father’s look. “We’re together.” Sirius hesitated, but then, with more than a shade of his impulsiveness of old, he jumped right in. “He told me about how angry you were with each other-“

Altair leaped to his feet. “He hated you! He wanted you to suffer! He reveled in thoughts of your torture!”

Sirius refused to answer his father’s sharp words in kind. “He was hurt, too, Dad.”

“He abandoned you! He believed in his heart that you were guilty of the most monstrous crimes!”

“No, that’s not true. His mind logically interpreted the evidence to show what a cruel traitor I was. But, in his heart, he still loved me. Even though I destroyed everyone he loved. Deep down, he still loved me. And he hated himself for it.”

Altair’s anger faded in the face of his son’s dogged persistence. He slumped onto his chair, elbows on his knees, head propped in his hands. “I hated to see him turn all that venom against you. When I knew you were in hell…Mine was the only candle lit against the darkness that swallowed you…” 

Sirius remained silent. Altair eventually looked at him and was struck by how the shadows in Sirius’ eyes spoke of a deep and tortured knowledge. His solemn expression gave him a maturity deeper than his father had ever seen in him before. Altair felt old. Finally, Sirius said, “Now that Remus and I have found each other again, would you have us separate because of old mistakes?”

Altair’s look was grave. “Do you still love each other?”

“Quite desperately.”

“I want you to be happy, Sirius. It’s all I ever wanted for you. But…”

“But, what?”

Altair looked both rueful and annoyed. “I can’t promise I won’t yell at him the first time I see him.”

A smile slowly spread across Sirius’ face. “Well, he might yell right back. I don’t care. I love both of you. You’ll simply have to work it out between you and that’s all there is to it.”

Altair raised his hands in surrender, and answering smile lighting his azure eyes. “Alright, alright. You win. We’ll make up.”

“Thank you. He’ll be here in a day or two.” Sirius announced calmly. “Are you ready for dinner? I’m famished.”

And, so the evening continued. Their talk ranged from an examination of Altair’s passion for gardening to Sirius’ description of the differences between human and canine senses. They needed a respite from more emotional topics. But simply spending these hours together restored a profound connection that had been sorely missing from both their lives. It was a balm to their souls.

**~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~*~

A routine developed over the next few days. As promised, Altair spent several hours each day examining the Hogwarts’ endowments. While he was occupied with that, Sirius assisted Dumbledore with interpreting the various reports that were being sent in by their allies, trying to develop a big picture of how events were shaping up. But, much of their time was shared together, including long walks around the school’s grounds and into Hogsmeade. At times, due to their proximity to others, Padfoot would appear, which Altair found endlessly intriguing. 

Remus’ arrival raised the emotional stakes for all three men. Altair and Sirius had just returned to their rooms after a visit to Hogsmeade. As Balty, the efficient house elf, set out their afternoon tea, the door opened and Remus appeared. Sirius sprang across the room to greet him. Altair had a quick impression of silver-streaked tawny hair and bright, happy hazel eyes before the two disappeared into their shared bedroom. 

They reappeared moments later. Altair stood by the windows and noticed Remus’ slight hesitation before the younger man strode across the room. Sirius hovered anxiously near-by. Remus stopped in front Altair, standing straight and tall. “Altair, I know it’s inexcusably late, but I wish to extend my deepest apologies to you. I’ve wronged you, not only by the horrible things I said to you about Sirius, but also because I didn’t give you the support you deserved after Natalie died. I was afraid that you wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me, but I should have at least made the effort. I am deeply, profoundly sorry and I hope that you-“

“Remus, stop.” Altair interrupted him quietly. “I was so desperate to try and help Sirius all those years ago, that I couldn’t even conceive that anyone close to him would see things differently. I never stopped to consider how his supposed betrayal must have hurt you, too.” He paused, gazing into the wide, hazel eyes of his son’s lover, and saw some of the same shades that haunted Sirius. “I’m sorry, too, Remus. It was a terrible time and we all suffered.” He looked quickly back and forth between the younger men. “But, we managed to survive, and have been given the opportunity to put it all behind us.”

He threw his arms around Remus and embraced him. Remus hugged back, murmuring, “Thank you.” He wasn’t quite sure if he was thanking Altair, or Sirius, or the fates that had granted them all this second chance.

With a palpable sense of relief, the three men sat down for tea. Altair’s eyes suddenly lit up with ill-concealed mischief. “You know, Sirius, the wards the Ministry placed around my house alert them to my human visitors. If an animal, such as a large dog, passed through the wards, they wouldn’t know it. And once the dog was inside the wards, it would be safe for him to take on a different physical form.”

“You’re encouraging me to play tricks on the Ministry?” Sirius asked with insincere outrage. 

Altair shrugged innocently. Remus raised an eyebrow at Altair and then glared at Sirius, “So this compulsion to dream up plans to try to outwit the enemy has its basis in genetic predisposition? What other recessive genes are you hiding?”

Sirius smiled affectionately. “I’m afraid it will take you a lifetime to find them all.”

Remus grinned back. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Altair felt a sudden rush of emotion he tried to hide. He wondered how long it would take until the three of them would be able to spend time together without at least one of them fighting to stop from crying. The feeling of family, of support and love that was so evident in the room had been absent from his life for so long. He wasn’t going to let it go. He’d fight like hell to keep it and to keep his boys safe. There was only one sure way to do that.

“We’ve got to catch that rat!” Altair hadn’t meant to say that aloud and saw that he’d surprised the other two.

“Yes, we do,” Remus agreed. “Not only for justice, but because Sirius’ effectiveness in the fight against Voldemort is hampered because of it.”

An idea occurred to Altair, but he knew instinctively his son would object. He’d have to enlist Remus’ help. An opportunity suddenly presented itself, in the form of a knock on the door. Albus Dumbledore poked his head in to borrow Sirius briefly to translate a note from Mundungus Fletcher that contained more than his usual amount of gibberish. 

Once Sirius left the room, Altair immediately outlined his plan to Remus. It involved giving his wand to Sirius. “He won’t want to take it because he’ll think that it might look suspicious for me to waltz into Olivander’s store for a new wand. I know Sirius will do anything in his power to avoid directing ‘official’ scrutiny towards me. But, our wands have the same core. This one would work well for him, although he probably shouldn’t try long distance Apparating.” 

Remus heard him out. “As it happens, I agree with you. I hate the thought of him out there without the protection that a wand can give him. What do you want me to do?”

“Before we leave Hogwarts, I’ll slip my wand to you. Once you get home, give it to him.”

“Present him with a fait accompli, eh? So, you get to do something noble and I get to deal with an annoyed Animagus.” 

Altair laughed. “Remus, I’m sure you’ll think of something to put him back into a good mood.”

Several ideas had already occurred to Remus on that score, but he didn’t think it appropriate to share the sultry details with the father of his mate. He smiled back. “Agreed. We are now official co-conspirators.”

At that moment, Sirius returned. “What are the two of you grinning about?”

“We’re discussing how much you mean to us,” Altair responded. Although that wasn’t precisely true, Altair felt that core of truth in his statement should serve to cover a multitude of sins.

Sirius leaned over to kiss his father’s forehead and then sat next to Remus, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “Well, that’s good, since you’re both rather important to me, too.”

Blue eyes met hazel in a silent pledge. They would do their utmost to protect and fight for the black-haired wizard, son and lover, that that each loved more than any other living soul. He would never be taken from them again.

END


End file.
